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JWINTER    SKETCHES 


FROM  THE  SADDLE 


BY   A   SEPTUAGBNARIAN 


JOHN     CODMAN 


NEW   YORK  AND  LONDON 

G.    P.    PUTNAM'S    SONS 
S^t  ^nickeibochd  ^xtU9 


COPYRIGHT   BY 

G.    P.    PUTNAM'S    SONS 
1888 


Press  of 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York 


TO 

GEORGE    BANCROFT, 

THE    OCTOGENARIAN    EQUESTRIAN, 

THE    HISTORIAN    FOR    ALL    TIME, 

THIS  VOLUME 

IS    BY    PERMISSION 

RESPECTFULLY    DEDICATED. 


WINTER  SKETCHES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Equestrianopathy. —  The  Horse,  the  Saddle,  and 
the  Outfit. —  Westchester  Coiuity. — Ele- 
phants and  Milk. — Decker  s  histitiition, — 
A  Town  of  Churches. — Meeting  of  Old 
Schoolmates. 

I  HAVE  a  favorite  medical  system,  which 
I  shall  style  Equestrianopathy.  It  is  vastly 
superior  to  Allopathy,  Homoeopathy,  Elec- 
tropathy or  pathy  of  any  other  kind. 

"  When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow," 
whether  it  comes  from  mental  or  physical  de- 
pression, too  much  exercise  of  brain  or  stom- 
ach, dissipation  of  society  or  confinement  in 
furnace-heated  hotels  or  offices  of  the  city,  I 
resort  to  my  remedy. 

From  my  boyhood  I  have  adopted  it  when- 
ever opportunity  offered,  as  a  prophylactic  as 
well  as  a  cure.  Many  hundred  miles  have  I 
I 


2  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

ridden  over  African  deserts,  South  American 
pampas  and  the  plains  and  mountains  of  Cali- 
fornia, Utah  and  Idaho;  and  the  miles  trav- 
ersed in  New  York  and  New  England  might 
be  counted  by  thousands.  But  for  the  horse  I 
should  long  ago  have  been  in  the  grave. 

"  My  kingdom  for  a  horse ! "  exclaimed 
Richard.  The  horse  has  been  a  kingdom  for 
me. 

I  could  say  with  Campbell 

"  Cease  every  joy  to  glimmer  on  my  mind, 
But  leave,  oh  leave  the  light  of  hope  behind,  " 

that  light  of  hope  being  my  saddle  horse. 

The  late  Rev.  Dr.  Cutler  of  Brooklyn,  when 
a  feeble  young  man  recovered  his  health  by 
riding  from  Portland  to  Savannah.  His  valu- 
able life  was  prolonged  to  old  age  by  this 
almost  daily  exercise.  When  one  of  his 
parishioners  asked  him  how  he  could  afford  to 
keep  a  horse,  bis  reply  was  "  My  dear  sir,  I 
cannot  afford  not  to  keep  one." 

If  your  business  confines  you  to  the  city, 
give  the  night  two  hours  that  you  now  steal 
from  it,  and  take  for  the  day  two  hours 
that  you  give  for  sleep.  Take  this  clear  gain 
of  time  for  horseback    exercise    in    the    park. 


HORSE  AND  SADDLE.  3 

But  if  you  are  a  man  of  leisure,  ride  through 
the  country  for  days  and  weeks  on  long  jour- 
neys, where  constantly  recurring  changes  di- 
vert the  mind  that  stagnates  in  daily  routine. 

Procure — I  mean  buy,  own,  an  animal  that  is 
exclusively  a  saddle  horse.  A  horse  is  like  a 
servant  in  one  especial  respect,  "A  servant  of 
all  work"  is  perfect  in  nothing.  She  is  a  poor 
cook,  a  poor  parlor-girl  and  a  poor  chamber- 
maid. A  horse  that  goes  double  and  single  in 
harness  and  is  likewise  used  under  the  saddle, 
walks,  trots  and  lopes  indifferently.  A  good 
driving  and  riding  horse  is  a  rare  combination, 
and  a  horse  generally  used  in  harness  is  never 
capable  of  any  prolonged  journey  under  the 
saddle. 

Select  a  horse  whose  weight  corresponds  in 
proportion  to  your  own.  He  should  be  a  fast 
walker,  a  good  trotter  and  an  easy  loper.  A 
fast  walk  is  the  quality  most  desirable  though 
not  often  suflficiently  considered.  Walk  your 
horse  half  the  time  and  divide  the  other  half 
between  the  trot  and  the  lope.  Now  as  to  the 
saddle.  The  little  "  pig  skin  "  is  adapted  to 
hunting  and  is  well  enough  for  play  and  exer- 
cise in  the  park.  It  is  used  by  exquisites  who 
ape  all  things  English.     Did  you   ever  notice 


4  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

that  such  persons  invariably  carry  a  Malacca 
joint  with  a  rectangular  ivory  or  steel  handle,  a 
loop  at  the  other  end  of  the  stick?  Ask  them 
the  use  of  it  and  they  will  tell  you  that  it  is 
the  fashion. 

Really  it  is  useful  to  country  gentlemen 
of  England,  who,  riding  where  lanes  and  gates 
abound,  are  enabled  without  dismounting,  to 
catch  the  gate  latch,  and  to  close  the  gate 
after  them  with  the  handle.  They  also  put  a 
lash  into  the  loop  when  hunting,  but  the  thing 
is  a  useless  encumbrance  here. 

The  English  saddle  is  not  well  adapted  to 
long  journeys.  It  often  galls  the  horse's  back, 
which  the  unstuffed  Mexican  or  McClellan 
never  does,  if  properly  put  on  far  enough 
aft  and  with  a  blanket  underneath. 

Especially  is  this  true  in  regard  to  a  lady's 
saddle.  If  a  horse  could  speak  he  would  tell 
you  which  he  likes  best.  I  wish  that  Balaam's 
ass  when  he  was  in  a  conversational  mood,  had 
said  something  definite  on  the  subject  of  sad- 
dles. Be  kind,  while  you  are  firm  with  your 
horse.  Don't  carry  a  whip — he  will  see  it  and 
suspect  you.  Wear  light  spurs,  which  are  good 
persuasives    and   which     he   will    think   have 


DYSPEPSIA.  5 

touched  him  accidentally,  while  at  the  same 
time  they  serve  to  keep  him  awake. 

Loosen  the  girths  frequently  when  you 
alight,  and  when  you  stop  for  anytime  remove 
the  saddle  and  wash  his  back.  The  beast  will 
thank  you  with  his  grateful  eyes. 

Do  not  give  him  water  when  hot,  excepting 
enough  to  wet  his  mouth.  Feed  him  when 
cool,  but  feed  neither  him  nor  yourself  im- 
mediately before  starting,  nor  when  greatly  fa- 
tigued. The  neglect  of  this  precaution  may 
induce  dyspepsia  for  a  horse  as  well  as  for  a 
man.  I  am  writing  for  people  upon  whom  this 
treatment  is  urged  that  they  may  avoid  or  be 
cured  of  that  distressing  malady.  It  is  old  as 
the  world.  It  came  from  the  indigestible  ap- 
ples of  the  Garden  of  Eden. 

Virgil  thus  describes  it : 

" — rostioque  immanis  vultur  obunco 
Immortale  jecur  tondens  feciindaque  poenis 
Viscera  rimaturque  epulis,  habitatque  sub  alto 
Pcctore,  nee  fibris  requies  datur  ulla  renatis." 

That  is  a  vivid  description  of  dyspepsia.  It 
is  what  the  priestess  thought  as  worth  her 
while  to  take  Aeneas  down  to  hell  to  behold, 
that  among  other  terrible  sights  he  might  see 
poor  Tityus  in  one  of  its  fits. 


6  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

Don't  trust  the  most  honest  face  in  the 
world  in  the  matter  of  oats.  See  them  put 
into  the  manger,  and  hang  about  the  stable 
until  your  horse  is  fed.  Get  your  own  dinner 
afterwards,  for  you  are  of  less  importance.  If 
your  table  is  not  properly  served  you  can  com- 
plain. Your  horse  cannot.  Do  not  overload 
him  with  much  baggage.  Dead  weight  tells 
upon  Jiim  more  that  live  weight.  Dismount 
occasionally  when  about  to  descend  a  long  or 
steep  hill.  You  will  thus  relieve  the  horse  and 
vary  the  exercise  of  your  own  muscles.  Wear 
a  woollen  shirt  and  let  him  carry  your  night- 
shirt, hair-brush,  tooth-brush,  bathing  sponge, 
a  few  collars  and  handkerchiefs  ;  they  will  weigh 
but  little  over  two  pounds  and  will  be  all  suf- 
ficient. 

Feed  your  horse  with  four  quarts  of  oats  in 
the  morning,  two  at  noon  and  six  at  night, 
and  with  all  the  hay  that  he  cares  to  eat. 

Now  let  us  start  on  a  short  ride  of  twenty- 
eight  miles  and  return. 

It  is  the  middle  of  November,  in  a  season 
when  the  autumn  has  prematurely  succumbed 
to  the  frosts  of  winter,  and  the  scene  of  our 
departure  is  at  Lake  Mohegan,  one  of  those 
beautiful  and  romantic  basins  among  the  hills 


WESTCHESTER  COUNTY.  J 

of  Westchester  County  which  divides  its  attrac- 
tions with  its  neighbors,  Mahopac,  Oscawana, 
Mohansic  and  Osceola,  all  of  them  within  fifty- 
miles  of  New  York,  and  all,  with  the  exception 
of  Mahopac,  little  known  and  almost  undis- 
turbed in  the  seclusion  of  nature.  The  people 
of  the  crowded  city  who  go  out  of  it  in  the  sum- 
mer to  the  Kaaterskills,  the  White  Mountains  or 
to  the  greater  altitudes  in  more  distant  Colora- 
do, surely  have  not  informed  themselves  of  the 
scarcely  less  romantic  scenery  and  healthful  cli- 
mate that  is  within  their  reach  in  an  hour.  Here 
in  the  hills,  which  almost  deserve  the  name  of 
mountains,  are  primeval  forests  and  leafy  sol- 
itudes, rushing  torrents  and  quiet  glens  that  need 
no  distance  to  lend  enchantment  to  the  view. 
Most  of  this  soil  is  too  rough  for  remunerative 
agriculture,  and  it  is  difificult  to  understand  how, 
with  all  their  industry  and  economy,  the  hardy 
inhabitants  manage  to  gain  a  livelihood. 

The  roads  were  hard  and  smooth  and  the  clat- 
ter of  my  horse's  hoofs  rang  cheerily  in  the  crisp 
air  when  I  left  Mohegan.  A  lively  gallop  soon 
brought  us  fourteen  miles  on  our  way  easterly 
over  the  hills  to  the  little  village  of  Somerstown. 
Like  a  great  castle  on  the  Rhine,  with  its 
two  or   three  adjacent    appurtenances,  a  large 


8  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

brick  hotel  looms  up  among  the  few  small 
houses  in  its  neighborhood.  My  curiosity  was 
not  only  attracted  by  this  disproportion,  but  by 
the  statue  of  an  elephant  nearly  as  large  as  life  ; 
I  mean  the  life  size  of  a  small  elephant,  of 
course. 

This  remarkable  resemblance  to  the  animal 
was  mounted  on  a  high  post  before  the  door 
of  the  hotel,  and  painted  over  the  front  of  the 
building  I  read,  in  enormous  letters,  "  Elephant 
Hotel." 

It  was  time  to  breathe  my  horse,  and  the 
ride  had  given  me  an  appetite  for  any  thing  I 
might  find  within,  even  if  it  should  prove  to 
be  an  elephant  steak.  The  landlord  observed 
that  "  the  women-folks  were  not  at  home,  but 
he  guessed  he  could  find  something."  He  ac- 
cordingly placed  a  cold  turkey  and  a  bottle  of 
London  porter  on  the  table,  and  thus  proved 
that  his  guess  was  very  correct.  As  he  sat 
down  by  my  side,  I  asked  him  the  meaning  of 
all  this  elephantine  display. 

"  Why,"  he  answered,  "  Hackaliah  Bayley 
built  this  house  himself!" 

"  Hackaliah  Bayley  !     Who  was  he  ?" 

"  Who  was  Hackaliah  Bayley  1  Don't  you 
know  ?     He  was  the   man   who  imported  the 


HACKALIAH  AND  OLD  BET.  9 

first  elephant  into  these  U-nited  States — old 
Bet ;  of  course  you  have  heard  of  old  Bet  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  not." 

"  What,  never  heard  of  old  Bet !  Well,  sir, 
you  are  pretty  well  along  in  life.  Where  have 
you  been  all  your  days  ?  " 

I  told  him  I  had  not  spent  them  all  in  West- 
chester County. 

"  I  should  rather  think  not,"  replied  the  land- 
lord, "  or  else  you'd  have  heard  of  Hackaliah 
Bayley  and  old  Bet.  Right  here,  from  this 
very  spot,  he  started  the  first  show  in  this 
country.  Right  around  here  is  where  they 
breed  and  winter  wild  animals  to  this  day. 
Folks  round  here  have  grown  rich  out  of  the 
show  business.  There's  men  in  this  town  that 
have  been  to  Asia  and  Africa  to  get  animals ; 
and  Bayley's  big  circus  (he  was  old  Hackaliah's 
son)  grew  up  out  from  the  small  beginning 
when  Hackaliah  imported  old  Bet,  and  that 
wasn't  more  than  sixty  or  seventy  years  ago. 
Yes,  sir ;  Hackaliah  began  on  that  one  she- 
elephant.  He  and  a  boy  were  all  the  company. 
They  travelled  nights  and  showed  daytimes. 
Old  Bet — she  knew  just  how  much  every  bridge 
in  the  country  would  bear  before  she  put  her 
foot  on  it.     Bimeby  they  got  a  cage  of  monkeys 


lO  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

and  carted  them  along,  and  gradually  it  got  up 
to  bears,  lions,  tigers,  camels,  boa-constrictors, 
alligators,  Tom  Thumb,  hippopotamuses,  and 
the  fat  woman — in  fact,  to  where  it  is  now. 
Yes,  sir;  P.  T.  Barnum  got  the  first  rudiments 
of  his  education  from  Hackaliah  Bayley  right 
here  in  Somerstown.  Elephants  and  milk  have 
made  this  town.  In  fact,  we  all  live  on  ele- 
phants and  milk." 

"  Elephants  and  milk  !  Good  gracious,  "  I 
exclaimed,  "  what  a  diet  !  " 

"Lord,  sir,"  retorted  my  landlord,  "  did 
you  think  I  meant  that  we  crumbled  elephants 
into  milk  and  ate  'em  ?  No ;  I  mean  to  say 
that  the  elephant  business  and  the  milk  busi- 
ness are  what  have  built  up  this  place.  I've 
told  you  what  elephants  have  done  for  us,  and 
now  I'll  tell  you  about  milk.  There's  farmers 
round  here  owning  a  hundred  cows  apiece. 
From  the  little  depot  of  Purdy's  you'll  pass  a 
mile  beyond  this,  we  send  eight  thousand 
gallons  of  milk  every  day  to  New  York  ;  and  it 
starts  from  here  pure,  let  me  tell  you,  for  we 
are  honest,  if  we  were  brought  up  in  the  show 
business.  Then  right  in  our  neighborhood  are 
two  condensed-milk  factories,  where  they  use 
seventeen   thousand   more.     There's    twenty- 


ELEPHANTS  AND  MILK.  \  \ 

five  thousand  gallons.  The  farmers  get  twelve 
cents  for  it  on  the  spot.  So  you  see  there  is  a 
revenue  of  three  thousand  dollars  a  day  to  this 
district.  Now  you've  been  telling  me  of  the 
West,  how  they  raise  forty  bushels  of  wheat  to 
the  acre,  and  all  that.  Well,  what  does  it 
amount  to  by  the  time  they  get  their  returns, 
paying  so  much  out  in  railroad  freight  ?  You 
ride  along  this  afternoon,  and  if  you  come  back 
this  way,  tell  me  if  the  houses  and  fixings  and 
things,  especially  the  boys,  and  more  particu- 
larly the  gals,  look  any  belter  in  them  fever- 
and-ague  diggings  than  they  do  here,  if  we  do 
live  on  elephants  and  milk!  " 

And  so  I  parted  from  Mr.  Mead,  with  many 
thanks  for  the  valuable  information  I  should 
never  have  been  likely  to  acquire  by  travelling 
on  a  railroad. 

I  soon  came  to  Purdy's  station,  and  dis- 
mounting at  the  door  of  the  factory  was 
politely  shown  the  various  processes  by  which 
the  raw  material  of  cow  product  is  manufact- 
ured and  reduced.  One  gallon  of  pure  milk 
is  reduced  to  half  a  pint  of  the  condensed,  and 
to  this  sugar  is  added  for  long  preservation, 
although  it  is  not  required  if  the  milk  is  to  be 
used  in  two  or  three  weeks.     There  is  perhaps 


12  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

a  greater  assurance  of  purity  in  the  new  stock 
than  in  the  old  stock,  which  is  liable  to  be 
watered ;  still  it  might  be  readily  imagined 
that  arrowroot  and  other  ingredients  may 
form  a  basis  for  deception  if  the  known  integ- 
rity of  those  who  manufacture  it,  did  not 
place  them  above  suspicion. 

As  I  jogged  along  upon  my  road  I  overtook 
a  gentleman,  of  whom  I  enquired,  "  What  is 
that  large  establishment  we  are  approaching  ?" 

"  That,  sir,"  he  replied,  "  is  Decker's,  and  I 
think  it  is  well  worth  seeing  ;  I  have  often  had 
a  curiosity  to  enter  it  myself,  and  if  you  like 
we  can  now  apply  for  admission."  We  drew 
up  at  the  gates  accordingly  and  permission  to 
enter  was  readily  granted  by  the  custodian. 

"  You  will  find  the  ladies  at  dinner  just  now, 
gentlemen,  "  he  said,  *'  but  they  will  be  happy 
to  see  you." 

He  accordingly  ushered  us  in,  and  we  passed 
down  between  two  rows  of  the  occupants,  who 
were  so  busily  engaged  with  their  meal  that 
they  scarcely  noticed  our  presence.  There 
were  eighty-seven  of  them,  and  what  struck  us 
as  very  remarkable,  they  were  dining  in  abso- 
lute silence.  They  were  variously  dressed, 
some  in  black,  some  in  white,  but  red  appeared 


DECKER'S.  1 3 

to  be  the  favorite  color.  It  was  gratifying  to 
notice  that  none  of  them  wore  bangs  or  idiot 
fringes,  although  they  all  had  switches  and 
high  projecting  horn  combs.  We  asked  the 
superintendent  if  the  ladies  were  at  all  re- 
strained in  their  liberty.  "  Oh,  no,  "  he  replied, 
"  they  have  certain  hours  of  the  day  at  this 
season  for  a  promenade  upon  the  lawn, 
although  we  require  them  to  be  regular  at 
their  meals  three  times  daily  and  to  be  always 
within  doors  at  night.  In  summer  we  are  not 
so  strict ;  in  fact  they  then  live  most  of  the 
time  in  the  open  air." 

"Are  they  charity  patients?"  we  asked, 
"  or  do  they  pay  for  their  board  and  treat- 
ment?" "It  is  true, "  he  answered,  "that 
they  do  not  come  here  of  their  own  accord, 
but  I  do  not  believe  that  they  could  have  such 
home  comforts  anywhere  else.  They  like  their 
quarters  and  are  willing  to  pay  for  them. 
They  do  not  pay  in  cash,  but  you  observe  that 
each  one  has  her  reticule  in  which  she  brings 
the  proceeds  of  her  day's  work.  We  send  it 
down  to  New  York  and  sell  it  there."  "  But  I 
do  not  see  any  gentlemen  among  them,  "  re- 
marked my  acquaintance.  The  superinten- 
dent seemed  somewhat  confused  as  he  replied 


14  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

that  establishments  of  this  kind  were  more 
profitable  when  the  boarders  were  ladies. 
Soon  afterwards  we  left  the  building  express- 
ing our  thanks  for  the  courtesy  extended  to 
us  and  taking  a  note  of  the  sign  over  the  en- 
trance, "  Decker's  Milk  Dairy." 

We  passed  on  over  the  rich  meadow  lands  of 
a  country  so  well  adapted  to  milk  farms  by 
its  natural  properties  and  its  nearness  by  rail- 
road to  the  city.  There  were  many  pretty 
and  even  elegant  and  capacious  residences, 
evidently  the  homes  of  familiq^  who,  combin- 
ing the  utile  ciun  dulce,  must  have  other  means 
of  support  besides  the  proceeds  of  these  farms. 
Like  Mr.  Decker,  they  make  lavish  expendi- 
tures in  economy,  the  result  of  which  is,  as  many 
of  these  gentlemen  farmers  are  ready  to  admit,  a 
loss  to  them  for  what  they  charitably  intend 
for  a  benefit  to  their  neighbors  in  the  instruc- 
tions given.  Singularly,  however,  the  unedu- 
cated farmer  generally  prefers  his  own  old 
way.  Not  caring  for  palatial  barns,  patent 
fodder  and  ensilage,  he  shelters  his  cows 
under  rough  sheds,  feeds  them  on  hay  in 
the  winter  and  turns  them  out  to  pasture 
in   summer  and  makes  a  living  from   the  pro- 


A  TOWN  OF  CHURCHES.  15 

ceeds,  while  his  experimenting  instructor  is 
carrying  his  yearly  account  to  the  debit  of 
profit  and  loss. 

Passing  through  the  town  of  North  Salem, 
five  miles  beyond,  the  apparently  religious 
character  of  the  people  made  a  deep  impres- 
sion upon  me.  Inquiring  of  a  farmer  who  was 
driving  along  in  a  wagon  by  my  side,  he  said 
that  in  a  population  of  twenty-five  hundred, 
there  were  eight  different  sects,  each  of  course 
considering  itself  in  the  only  straight  and 
narrow  path  to  heaven.  "  But,"  added  my 
informant,  "such  a  quarrelsome  set  of  cusses 
you  never  did  see.  I  guess  the  trouble  is  that 
religion  is  cut  up  into  such  small  junks  that 
nobody  gets  enough  of  it  to  do  'em  any 
good." 

The  border  line  is  not  well  defined,  but  I 
knew  that  I  was  now  in  Connecticut,  and  that 
after  riding  half  a  dozen  miles  further,  I  should 
come  to  the  village  of  Ridgefield,  the  home  of 
my  old  friend  and  schoolmate,  Dan  Adams, 
where  a  hearty  welcome  awaited  me. 

Dan  is  a  retired  physician — not  that  cele- 
brated advertiser  "  whose  sands  of  life  have 
nearly  run  out."  I  hope  there  is  much  sand 
yet  left  in  the  time-glass  of  my  friend.     He  is 


1 6  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

one  of  those  wise  men  (of  whom  there  are  few) 
who  know  that  the  grasshopper  is  likely  soon 
to  become  a  burden,  and  so  contrive  to  make 
his  weight  light  by  husbanding  their  strength. 
How  few  among  men  know  when  to  leave  off 
business,  and  how  few  there  are  of  these  who 
can  leave  it  off  and  be  happy  !  He  is  one  of 
this  small  number  to  be  envied.  Twenty  years 
ago  he  relinquished  his  practice  in  the  city,  and 
retired  to  this  healthy  spot.  Here,  with  his 
charming  family  around  him,  his  comfortable 
house,  his  elegant  library,  his  pair  of  fine 
horses,  his  robust  health,  he  is  as  happy  as 
man  can  wish  to  be. 

After  our  dinner  we  two  old  fellows  sat  up 
far  into  the  still  hours  of  the  night,  and  over  a 
bowl  of  punch,  such  as  we  used  clandestinely 
to  quaff,  talked  of  our  school-boy  days  and 
playmates.  We  were  at  school  at  Amherst  in 
the  year  1829,  and  every  five  years  we  meet 
again  on  the  old  playground,  for  the  school  is 
still  maintained.  There  the  present  genera- 
tion of  boys  look  with  wonder  on  the  old  gray- 
beards  who  fall  into  ranks — thinner  ranks,  alas, 
at  every  meeting ;  and  when  they  see  us  after 
roll-call  at  our  regular  game  of  foot-ball,  their 
astonishment    knows  no  bounds.     And  I    will 


MEETING  OF  OLD  SCHOOLMATES.  1 7 

tell  you  what  boy — alas,  that  he  has  left  us — 
could  best  kick  the  football,  could  best  wres- 
tle, run  fastest,  was  the  most  athletic  gymnast, 
was  the  most  jovial  youngster,  though  perhaps 
the  laziest  student  of  us  all — Henry  Ward 
Beecher.  "  John,  I  never  envied  anybody  but 
you,"  he  said  not  long  ago,  "and  that  only 
once.  It  was  when  you  threw  the  spit  ball  at 
old  Master  Colton,  and  hit  him  square  on  the 
top  of  his  bald  head.     I  always  missed  him." 

We  had  a  festive  night,  closing  it  with  a 
sound  sleep,  won  by  exercise  and  pleasant 
reminiscences.  In  the  morning  a  hearty  break- 
fast, a  warm  adieu,  and  then  a  gallop  back  to 
Mohegan,  stopping  again  for  lunch  at  the  cas- 
tle built  by  "  Hackaliah  Bayley,  who  imported 
the  first  elephant  into  these  U-nited  States — 
old  Bet ;  of  course  you've  heard  of  old  Bet." 

Now  you  too  have  heard  the  story,  if  you 
have  never  heard  it  before,  and  you  know  how 
two  days  may  be  passed  enjoyably  in  the 
country  in  winter,  while  you  are  lying  in  bed, 
or  loafing  at  your  club,  or  in  the  hands  of  some 
doctor  whose  interest  it  is  not  to  recommend 
to  you  the  practice  of  equestrianopathy. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Notes  of  a  Road  Journey  from  New  York  to 
Boston. —  The  Turtipikes. — Life  iji  the 
Farming  Regions. — Religion  in  the  "  Hill 
Towns!' — The  ^^  Commercial  Room"  at 
Hartford. — An  Aged  Amherst  Instructor. 
— A  Soldier  of  Napoleon. —  The  Old  Stage 
House. 

I  WAS  once  visiting  in  Southern  California  a 
ranch  owned  by  an  old  Mexican  gentleman 
who  was  unavoidably  annexed  when  the  terri- 
tory was  acquired  by  the  United  States.  The 
proprietor,  whose  surroundings  indicated  pros- 
perity although  its  modern  accompaniments 
were  wanting,  nevertheless  possessed  an  ele- 
gant carriage,  which  particularly  attracted  my 
attention  because  it  was  not  in  keeping  with 
the  other  accessories  of  the  estate.  "  That," 
said  my  venerable  friend,  as  he  tapped  it  with 
his  cane,  "  belongs  to  my  granddaughter.  She 
was  educated  in  San  Francisco,  and  I  bought 
i8 


NO TES  OF  A  ROAD  JO URNE  Y.  1 9 

it  to  please  her,  but  I  never  use  it  myself.  At 
my  age  of  eighty-five  it  is  not  safe  to  take  any 
risks,  so  I  stick  to  my  saddle."  I  will  not  say 
that  I  am  so  apprehensive  of  danger,  for  I 
frequently  am  transported  from  place  to  place 
in  cabs,  railway  cars,  and  steamships,  but  my 
chief  pleasure  in  locomotion  is  when  I  find 
myself,  to  use  a  Western  phrase,  "  on  the  out- 
side of  a  horse." 

I  had  accepted  an  invitation  to  a  Thanksgiv- 
ing dinner  at  Boston,  and  as  I  am  the  owner  of 
a  thoroughbred  mare  who  might  be  idle  for 
want  of  exercise  in  my  absence,  and  as  I  myself 
had  no  business  occupation  which  might  not 
brook  delay,  I  thought  that  an  appetite  for  the 
turkey  would  be  increased,  and  that  I  might  at 
the  same  time  refresh  my  memory  by  the 
sight  of  ancient  landmarks,  if  I  should  saddle 
the  mare  and  ride  to  my  destination. 

I  am  perhaps  a  relative  of  one  of  the  most 
valued  correspondents  of  TJie  Evening  Post 
— at  any  rate,  I  belong  to  the  family  of  the 
Old  Boys.  I  have  read  with  great  interest  his 
reminiscences  of  the  highways  and  byways  of 
New  York  City,  and  as  his  country  cousin  I 
proposed  to  investigate  the  highways  and 
byways  that  connect  the  metropolis   of  busi- 


20  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

ness  and  wealth  with  the  metropolis  of  litera- 
ture and  art. 

As  a  young  boy,  sixty-five  years  ago,  I  had 
travelled  from  Boston  to  New  York  in  a  stage- 
coach, and  now  as  an  old  boy  I  desired  to 
retrace  my  steps.  There  are  few  of  us  who 
would  not  wish  to  retrace  the  steps  we  have 
made  in  such  a  length  of  years,  to  correct  our 
wanderings  and  to  live  our  lives  over  again, 
following  in  the  straight  line  of  duty. 

I  felt  assured  that  after  this  long  interval  of 
time  I  could  find  my  way  back  without  much 
difficulty,  as  most  of  it  would  be  over  the  old 
turnpike  roads.  I  remembered  the  story  that 
Long  Tom  Coffin  tells  in  the  "  Pilot"  of  his 
wagon  trip  from  Boston  to  Plymouth  and  of 
"  the  man  who  steered — and  an  easy  berth  he 
had  of  it ;  for  there  his  course  lay  atween  walls 
of  stone  and  fences  ;  and,  as  for  his  reckoning, 
why,  they  had  stuck  up  bits  of  stone  on  end, 
with  his  day's  work  footed  up  ready  to  his 
hand,  every  half-league  or  so.  Besides,  the 
landmarks  were  so  plenty  that  a  man  with  half 
an  eye  might  steer  her,  and  no  fear  of  getting 
to  leeward." 

Fanny  was  never  put  to  harness  but  once, 
and  then  she  kicked  herself  out  of  it.     I  am 


THE  NEUTRAL  GROUND.  21 " 

glad  that  she  did,  for  nobody  ever  tried  the 
experiment  with  her  again.  She  is  a  solid 
beast  eight  years  old,  convex  chest  and  long 
pasterns,  weighs  in  horse  parlance  "  nine 
hund'd  and  a  half,"  with  a  straight  back  and 
high  withers  built  up  for  the  purpose.  Her 
value — well,  you  can't  buy  her. 

She  was  at  Irvington,  and  thither  I  went  in 
an  early  morning  train  from  New  York,  and 
started  at  eleven  o'clock  across  the  country  to 
reach  the  old  Boston  post-road  to  New  Haven, 
passing  through  the  charming  county  of 
Westchester,  the  region  of  the  *'  neutral 
ground  "  of  the  Revolution,  made  famous  by 
the  alternate  occupancy  of  the  American  and 
British  armies,  the  wild  raids  of  the  cowboys, 
the  capture  of  Andr6,  and  the  romance  of 
Cooper  which  has  immortalized  reality  by 
clothing  it  in  the  garb  of  that  enduring  fiction, 
"The  Spy." 

We  were  informed  that  we  were  now  pass- 
ing through  the  property  of  an  eminent  finan- 
cier. Before  he  became  the  purchaser  of  these 
lands  along  the  New  York  City  and  Northern 
Railroad  reports  were  industriously  circulated 
that  fever  and  ague  prevailed  to  an  alarming 
extent.     The  lands  were  consequently  sold  at 


22  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

a  very  low  price.  But  after  they  had  been 
bought  there  was  an  immediate  sanitary  im- 
provement, and  they  arc  now  perfectly  healthy, 
and  are  held  at  a  high  price. 

Riding  through  the  pretty  county  town  of 
White  Plains  over  fine  macadamized  roads, 
bordered  by  many  attractive  residences,  we 
came  to  Port  Chester,  where  we  fed  our  horses 
and  dined,  my  companion,  who  had  accompa- 
nied me  thus  far,  to  my  great  regret  returning 
to  Irvington. 

I  was  now  upon  the  old  stage  road  running 
closely  by  the  side  of  the  railway,  but  rising 
frequently  over  the  hills  from  which  far  more 
extensive  views  of  the  Sound  could  be  obtained 
than  from  the  windows  of  the  cars.  There  is  a 
succession  of  large  towns,  villages,  and  country- 
houses  that  have  all  sprung  into  life  since  the 
days  of  the  old  stage-coach.  The  traveller  of 
those  times  would  recognize  nothing  now  ex- 
cept the  waters  beyond  the  shore,  and  even 
these  are  covered  by  craft  which  to  his  eyes 
would  seem  strange  as  compared  with  the  tiny 
sloops  that  then  answered  all  the  purposes  of 
traffic  between  the  embryo  cities  of  New  York 
and  Boston.  Least  of  all  would  he  understand 
the  meaning  of  those  tall  poles  crossed  at  their 


STLEXT  MONITORS.  23 

tops,  and  the  network  of  wires  that  carry  the 
unspoken  messages  Ave  cannot  hear,  and  of 
which  they  could  not  dream  any  more  than 
they  could  imagine  communication  with  the 
isolated  stars,  which  may  be  a  reality  sixty-five 
years  hence  for  the  boy  of  seven  years  who 
now  travels  in  the  cars. 

The  telegraph  poles  and  wires  were  as  serv- 
iceable to  me  as  were  the  "  walls  of  stone  and 
fences"  to  Long  Tom  Cofifin.  I  could  not 
well  miss  my  road  to  Norwalk  where  I  passed 
the  first  night,  and  to  New  Haven,  my  second 
resting-place.  On  the  third  day,  from  New 
Haven  to  Hartford  I  had  the  same  guidance, 
but  the  road  was  of  a  character  entirely  differ- 
ent. 

Were  it  not  for  those  silent  monitors,  the 
gray  forefathers  of  Connecticut  might,  if  they 
could  arise  from  their  graves,  walk  almost  from 
end  to  end  of  this  old  turnpike  of  thirty-six 
miles,  connecting  the  former  rival  capitals  of 
their  State^  without  perceiving  even  a  shadow 
of  change.  Perhaps  the  houses  by  the  wayside 
may  have  grown  older,  but  they  look  as  if  they 
never  could  have  been  new.  Their  paint  has 
not  worn  off,  for  painted  they  never  were. 
They  are  not  enclosed  by  "  stones  themselves 


24  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

to  ruin  grown,"  for  the  stone  walls  stand  at  the 
borders  of  the  road  as  they  were  laid  up  two 
centuries  ago.  Why  is  it  that  immortal  man 
so  soon  becomes  forgotten  and  unknown,  while 
these  old  stone  walls  stand  as  they  were  piled, 
and  from  century  to  century  bid  defiance  to 
the  ravages  of  time? 

I  am  sure  that  we  all  look  with  a  reflection 
like  this  on  the  memorials  of  the  past,  and 
often  ask  of  ourselves  how  it  can  be  that  he 
whose  desire  it  \^  to  live  on  and  to  live  forever 
in  this  world  of  happiness  which  might  increase 
as  year  follows  year,  should  be  cut  off  and 
consigned  to  the  dust,  while  these  inanimate 
things,  seeing  nothing,  feeling  nothing,  enjoy- 
ing nothing,  should  be  gifted  with  a  useless 
immortality. 

Still,  as  I  looked  at  the  faces  of  some  of 
those  old  farmers  and  talked  with  many  of  them 
who  neither  knew  nor  cared  for  anything  in 
the  outside  world,  I  almost  imagined  that  they 
were  the  men  who  had  laid  up  these  very  walls, 
and  that  they  too  were  stolidly  immortal.  Cer- 
tain I  was  that  if  their  ancestors  could  come 
back  to  earth,  they  would  be  as  much  at  home 
among  their  descendants  as  among  the  fences 
they  had  built. 


THE  TURNPIKE.  2$ 

What  strange  ideas  those  old  fellows  had  of 
road  building.  The  engineers  of  their  day,  if 
engineers  there  were,  were  impressed  with  the 
conviction  that  a  turnpike  should  be  built  in 
an  absolutely  straight  line,  no  matter  what  ob- 
stacles there  might  be  in  the  way.  It  never 
occurred  to  them  that  a  fly  could  crawl  around 
an  orange  with  less  effort  than  he  would  make 
in  crawling  over  it,  and  that  the  distance  would 
be  the  same.  If  the  spire  of  the  Strasbourg 
Cathedral  had  stood  in  their  way,  they  would 
not  have  budged  one  inch  to  the  right  or  to  the 
left.  Like  ancient  mariners  before  great  circle 
sailing  was  adopted,  they  fully  believed  that 
from  east  to  west  was  a  direct  course,  and  in 
trying  to  establish  the  mathematical  axiom 
that  a  straight  line  forms  the  shortest  connec- 
tion between  two  given  points,  they  really 
succeeded  in  demonstrating  its  falsity. 

People  who  travel  by  rail  through  the  new 
and  prosperous  towns  that  border  the  line  be- 
tween New  Haven  and  Hartford  can  form  no 
idea  of  the  contrast  presented  by  the  old  route. 
Two  distinct  phases  of  civilization  are  apparent. 
Much  has  been  said  lately  in  the  newspapers 
of  the  decay  of  religious  observances  in  New 
England.     This  is  true  of  places  where  the  new 


26  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

civilization  prevails,  for  the  railroad  has  dealt 
a  heavy  blow  upon  the  theology  of  our  fathers. 
One  writer  says  truly  that  "these  eastern  coun- 
ties of  Connecticut  are  not  physically  the  best 
part  of  the  State,  but  manufactories  and  rail- 
roads have  opened  new  lines  of  worldly  prosper- 
ity and  have  brought  in  a  population  that  is 
little  inclined  to  support  religious  services." 

On  my  road  I  passed  through  many  **  hill- 
towns,"  and  as  part  of  the  journey  was  pursued 
on  a  Sunday,  when  at  some  times  I  followed 
the  turnpike  and  at  others  the  road  near  the  rail- 
way, I  was  struck  by  the  marked  difference  in 
the  demeanor  of  the  residents.  Early  in  the 
morning  the  Roman  Catholics  of  a  railroad 
town  were  on  their  way  to  mass,  with  a  view 
of  compressing  their  "  Sabbath  "  into  an  hour 
before  breakfast,  and  then  devoting  themselves 
to  amusement  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  Getting 
back  into  a  hill-town  a  few  hours  afterwards, 
there  was  a  cessation  of  all  work,  and  not  even 
a  child  dared  to  amuse  itself.  The  quietude 
of  nature  seemed  to  have  communicated  itself 
to  the  souls  of  men  and  to  the  bodies  of  animals, 
and  I  believe  that  every  horse  thereabouts 
keeps  an  almanac  in  his  brain,  and  that  he  can 
calculate  with  certainty  upon  his  day  of  rest* 


SUNDA  y  LA  WS.  2/ 

Men,  women,  and  children  were  soberly  wend- 
ing their  way  to  meeting,  keeping  step  as  it 
were  to  the  slow  tolling  of  the  bell,  and  happy 
indeed  were  these  hill-town  people  when  there 
was  not  heard  the  discordant  clang  from  a  rival 
belfry,  but  all  of  them  were  assembled  in  "  the 
old  meeting-house "  as  one  flock  under  one 
shepherd. 

In  the  olden  times  it  would  have  been  very 
wicked  to  ride  on  the  Sabbath  through  this 
country  on  horseback.  Indeed,  I  can  well  re- 
member when  such  a  practice  would  not  have 
been  tolerated  in  the  immediate  neighorhood  of 
Boston.  Riding  and  driving  were  both  sinful, 
but  the  former  was  reprehensible  in  a  higher 
degree.  Sixty-five  years  ago  no  one  would 
have  dared  to  mount  a  horse  on  the  Sabbath, 
and  I  recollect  witnessing  the  arrest  of  a  coun- 
tryman who  having  sold  his  load  of  wood  on 
Saturday,  was  unable  to  return  on  account  of 
the  rain  until  Sunday  morning.  The  excuse 
was  not  admitted  and  he  was  locked  up  until 
Monday.  This  happened  six  miles  from  Bos- 
ton in  Dorchester,  from  whence  came  the  first 
colony  to  these  hill-towns  and  settled  itself  at 
Windsor.  Its  early  history  is  an  instructive 
Study.     It  may  aid  us  in   getting  rid  of  some 


28  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

very  erroneous  ideas  we  have  entertained  of 
the  intolerance  of  our  Puritan  forefathers,  and 
we  may  thereby  discern  in  what  this  sup- 
posed fault  really  consisted.  We  shall  find 
that  a  more  liberal  spirit  prevailed  among  the 
churches  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth 
centuries  than  was  afterwards  exhibited  in  the 
earlier  part  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  per- 
haps even  at  the  present  day.  It  is  true  that 
there  were  some  terrible  preachers  like  Ed- 
wards, who,  later  on,  endeavored  to  "  per- 
suade men  by  the  terrors  of  the  law  "  ;  but  al- 
though the  Assembly's  catechism  was  taught 
on  general  principles  as  a  text-book, — which 
might  as  well  have  been  written  in  Greek  or 
Hebrew, — and  not  infrequently,  profoundly 
soporific,  unintelligible,  and  consequently  harm- 
less hydra-headed  discourses  on  original  sin 
and  election  were  preached  in  the  absence  of 
such  exciting  topics  as  are  now  at  hand,  it  is 
simple  justice  to  the  memory  of  the  clergy  of 
those  days  to  say  that  in  the  main,  their  ser- 
mons were  practical,  conveying  to  men  views 
of  daily  duty  which  they  could  not  obtain 
through  the  mists  of  theology.  Such  was  the 
teaching,  for  the  most  part,  of  the  old  minis- 
ters  of  New   England.       They    were  honest, 


NEW  ENGLAND  MINISTERS.  29 

faithful,  good  men.  They  were  as  truly  the 
clergy  of  an  established  church  as  were  the 
bishops  and  priests  of  the  church  from  which 
they  had  seceded.  The  law  of  the  state, 
founded  on  the  pretence  of  religious  liberty, 
but  combining  in  itself  civil  and  ecclesiastical 
power,  delegated  to  them  an  almost  absolute 
control  over  the  religious  and  secular  conduct  of 
their  parishioners.  If  one  of  them  dared  to  do 
anything  of  which  the  minister  might  disap- 
prove he  became  an  outcast  from  society  as 
well  as  an  "  alien  from  the  commonwealth  of  Is- 
rael." Whether  men  belonged  to  the  church  or 
not,  they  were  by  statute  assessed  for  the  sup- 
port of  the  gospel,  and  unless  they  "  signed  off  " 
to  become  members  of  other  societies,  whether 
they  went  to  meeting  or  not,  they  were 
obliged  to  contribute  for  the  support  of  the 
gospel  as  preached  in  the  old  meeting-house. 

It  was  a  most  natural  desire  on  the  part  of 
the  established  clergy  to  keep  their  flocks 
from  straying  into  other  fields.  For  this  pur- 
pose they  pursued  a  policy  of  conciliation. 
However  much  they  might  for  want  of 
other  matter  preach  of  "  God's  plans  and  his 
eternal  purpose,"  all  that  they  required  of  their 
hearers  was  a  silent  assent  to  what  they  could 


30  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

not  understand  as  evidences  of  their  faith  in 
things  not  seen,  and  that  their  works  should  be 
in  accord  with  the  ten  commandments,  and 
especially  with  the  eleventh,  which  they  had 
taken  the  liberty  to  add.  "  Thou  shalt  go  to 
meeting  twice  every  Sabbath  and  pay  thy 
parish  taxes." 

A  conformity  to  this  obligation,  in  addition 
to  a  good  moral  life  with  due  reticence  of  opin- 
ions, afforded  sufficient  evidence  that  a  man 
was  a  Christian.  In  short,  beyond  the  essen- 
tial requisite  of  a  good  character,  the  great 
point  which  the  old  ministers  endeavored  to 
bring  to  bear  on  their  parishioners  was  that 
they  should  hold  fast  to  the  monopoly  of  relig- 
ious observances,  and  that  they  should  combine 
to  prevent  all  outsiders  from  religious  action 
in  opposition  to  it. 

These  excellent  men  would  not  have  for- 
given me  for  riding  on  horseback  on  the  Sab- 
bath day,  but  I  will  atone  for  the  offence 
by  preaching  from  the  saddle  this  sermon  in 
vindication  of  them,  bringing  it  to  a  close  by 
quoting  the  simple  yet  comprehensive  cov- 
enant, which  they  brought  with  them  from 
their  landing-place  on  the  shores  of  New  Eng- 
land, and  which  was  a  sufficient  rule  of  prac- 


DORCHESTER  COVENANT.  3  I 

tice  for  them  until  a  more  modern  theology 
introduced  the  bigotry  which  has  been  so 
falsely  laid  to  their  charge. 

"  Dorchester, 
"Ye  23d  day  of  ye  6th  month  (1630). 
"We,  whose  names  are  subscribed,  being 
called  of  God  to  join  ourselves  together  in 
Church  communion,  from  our  hearts  acknowl- 
edging our  own  unvvorthiness  of  such  a  privi- 
lege or  of  the  least  of  God's  mercies,  and  like- 
wise acknowledging  our  disability  to  keep  cov- 
enant with  God  or  to  perform  any  spiritual 
duty  which  God  calleth  us  unto,  unless  the 
Lord  do  enable  us  thereunto  by  his  spirit 
dwelling  in  us,  do,  in  the  name  of  Christ  Jesus, 
our  Lord,  and  in  trust  and  confidence  of  his 
free  grace  assisting  us,  freely  covenant  and 
bind  ourselves  solemnly,  in  the  presence  of 
God  himself,  his  holy  angels,  and  all  his  ser- 
vants here  present,  that  we  will,  by  his  grace 
assisting  us,  endeavor  constantly  to  walk  to- 
gether as  a  right  ordered  congregation  or 
church,  according  to  all  the  holy  rules  of  a 
church  body,  rightly  established,  so  far  as  we 
do  already  know  it  to  be  our  duty,  or  shall  fur- 
ther understand  it  out  of  God's  Holy  Word, 
promising  first,  and  above  all,  to  cleave  unto 
him  as  our  chief  and  only  good,  and  to  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  as  our  only  spiritual  hus- 
band and  Lord,  and  our  only  High  Priest  and 
Prophet  and  King.     And  for  the  furthering  of 


32  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

US  to  keep  this  blessed  communion  with  God, 
and  witli  his  Son  Jesus  Christ,  and  to  grow  up 
more  fully  herein,  we  do  likewise  promise, 
by  his  grace  assisting  us,  to  endeavor  the  es- 
tablishing among  ourselves,  of  all  his  holy  or- 
dinances which  God  hath  appointed  for  his 
churches  here  on  earth,  and  to  observe  all  and 
every  of  them  in  such  sort  as  shall  be  most 
agreeable  to  his  will,  opposing  to  the  utmost  of 
our  power  whatsoever  is  contrary  thereunto, 
and  bewailing  from  our  hearts  our  own  neglect 
thereof  in  former  time,  and  our  polluting  our- 
selves therein  with  any  sinful  inventions  of 
men. 

And,  lastly,  we  do  hereby  covenant  and  prom- 
ise to  further  to  our  utmost  power  the  best 
spiritual  good  of  each  other,  and  of  all  and 
every  one  that  may  become  members  of  this 
congregation,  by  mutual  instruction,  reprehen- 
sion, exhortation,  consolation,  and  spiritual 
watchfulness  over  one  another  for  good  ;  and 
to  be  subject,  in  and  for  the  Lord,  to  all  the 
administrations  and  censures  of  the  congrega- 
tion, so  far  as  the  same  shall  be  guided  accord- 
ing to  the  rules  of  God's  Holy  Word.  Of  the 
integrity  of  our  hearts  herein,  we  call  God,  the 
searcher  of  all  hearts,  to  witness,  beseeching 
him  so  to  bless  us  in  this  and  all  other  enter- 
prises, as  we  shall  sincerely  endeavor,  by  the 
assistance  of  his  grace,  to  observe  this  holy 
covenant  and  all  the  branches  of  it  inviolably 
forever ;  and  where  we  shall  fail  for  to  wait  on 


AGRICULTURAL  DECAY.  33 

the  Lord  Jesus  for  pardon  and  for  acceptance 
and  for  healine  for  his  name's  sake. 


Surely  in  this  simple  yet  comprehensive 
covenant  there  was  nothing  that  savored  of 
intolerance. 

It  is  quite  true  that  this  region  is  "  not  phy. 
sically  the  best  part  of  the  State."  Indeed, 
there  is  not  much  of  Connecticut  that  is  physi- 
cally good,  if  by  that  term  is  understood 
adaptation  to  agriculture,  especially  agriculture 
which  comes  into  competition  with  that  of  the 
great  West.  Tobacco  and  onion  culture  in  the 
river  bottoms  is  about  all  that  yields  a  profit. 

It  is  not  easy  to  understand  by  what  process 
the  farmers  of  these  inland  districts  manage 
not  only  to  support  life,  but  to  clothe  them- 
selves and  their  families  with  decency,  to  pay 
their  taxes,  and  to  maintain  their  churches. 
Old  men  tell  sad  stories  of  decadence  since  the 
railroads  destroyed  their  industry  of  supplying 
the  city  markets.  Farms,  they  say,  are  not 
worth  one-half  of  what  was  their  value  fifty 
years  ago.  What  a  commentary  is  this  on  the 
claim  of  the  protectionists,  that  manufactories 
encourage  the  farming  in  their  neighborhood  ! 
Certainly  the  manufacturing  interest  is  centred 
3 


34  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

in  New  England,  and  all  throughout  New  Eng- 
land the  value  of  farms  is  decreasing,  so  that 
it  is  only  by  hard  work  and  strict  economy 
that  the  farmer  is  enabled  to  pay  the  expenses 
that  this  accursed  tariff  which  he  is  told  is 
kept  up  for  his  benefit,  entails  upon  him. 

As  the  people  of  Berlin,  a  little  town  a  few 
miles  south  of  Hartford,  have  found  that  there 
is  no  money  to  be  made  out  of  land,  they 
have  devoted  their  attention  to  the  chicken 
industry. 

If  Mr.  Rutherford  B.  Hayes  had  been  my 
companion,  he  would  have  found  a  great  deal 
to  interest  him  here.  All  the  barnyards,  fields, 
and  roads  were  overrun  with  birds,  by  no  means 
of  a  feather,  but  representatives  of  every  possi- 
ble variety  of  the  domestic  fowl.  The  magnifi- 
cent Shanghai  stalked  by  the  side  of  the  little 
Bantam,  and  the  other  breeds  intermingled. 
The  Plymouth  Rock  seemed  to  be  the  finest 
specimerl  among  them  all.  One  old  farmer, 
who  looked  as  if  he  had  really  landed  on  Ply- 
mouth Rock,  told  me  that  on  Plymouth  Rocks 
he  depended  entirely  for  a  living.  Although 
the  flocks  freely  congregate,  their  owners 
manage  to  keep  the  breeds  separate.  I  rode 
out  of  the  village  at  sunset,  just  as  the  various 


STORM-BOUND. 


35 


families,  being  driven  in  by  the  children,  were 
going  to  roost,  and  when  their  cackling  died 
away  upon  my  ear  I  was  again  left  to  the 
solitude  of  the  old  turnpike  and  to  darkness, 
until  the  lights  of  "  Har'ford  town  "  shone  out 
before  me. 

Fanny  and  I  were  detained  two  whole  days 
in  Hartford  by  a  storm  of  wind  and  rain.  The 
continued  patter  on  the  roof  of  the  stable  I 
doubt  not  was  as  pleasing  to  the  mare  as  the 
lugubrious  prospect  from  the  hotel  windows 
was  depressing  for  me.  Still,  when  I  called  to 
mind  the  graphic  description  given  by  Irving 
of  his  rainy  Sunday  at  a  country  inn,  a  true 
philosophy  led  me  to  make  a  comparison  in 
my  own  favor. 

At  any  rate,  I  could  look  out  upon  a  city 
street  instead  of  a  stable  yard,  and  in  place  of 
the  melancholy  cock  standing  with  drooping 
feathers  on  the  dunghill,  there  were  people  to 
be  seen  battling  the  storm,  often  with  reversed 
umbrellas,  and  sometimes  swept  by  the  furious 
gusts  around  the  corner  and  dumped  into  the 
gutters.  That,  too,  was  a  greater  misery  than 
my  own,  and  I  confess  that  the  old  proverb 
afforded  me  no  little  satisfaction.  Besides, 
within  doors  I  had  company.     Several  drum- 


36  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

mers  or  "travellers,"  as  they  call  themselves, 
were  also  storm-bound.  As  we  were  all  regis- 
tering our  names  together,  the  clerk  replied  to 
the  question  of  one  as  to  the  charges.  "Three 
dollars  and  fifty  cents  per  day  is  the  rate,  but 
it  is  two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  for  travellers. 
You  are  a  traveller,  aren't  you  ?  "  "  Yes,  sir," 
he  replied.  When  the  same  question  was  pro- 
posed to  me,  my  conscience  did  not  forbid 
me  to  answer  in  the  afifirmative.  So  I  was 
adopted  into  the  fraternity  and  thereby  learned 
many  of  the  tricks  of  the  trade.  I  played 
euchre  with  my  fellow  "travellers"  to  while 
away  the  tedious  hours.  My  partner  travelled 
for  a  crockery  house,  and  of  our  opponents  one 
travelled  for  a  California  wine  house,  and  the 
other  for  a  patent  medicine  firm.  Others  in 
the  room  travelled  for  dry-goods,  grocery, 
saddlery,  hardware,  and  all  sorts  of  houses, 
one  of  them  for  a  peanut  firm,  carrying  with 
him  a  large  bag  of  samples,  the  commodities  of 
the  others  being  packed  in  enormous  trunks. 
My  modest  roll  of  baggage  astonished  them, 
and  when  they  asked  what  my  business  was,  I 
told  them  it  was  the  horse  business,  and  that  I 
could  not  very  well  bring  my  sample  into  the 
house. 


REVOLUTION  IN  TRADE.  37 

My  association  with  these  peripatetic  agents 
taught  me  that  a  greater  revolution  in  trade 
than  I  had  supposed  possible  had  taken  place 
since  the  days  of  old.  Readers  of  my  own 
age,  and  even  those  many  years  younger,  will 
remember  the  Exchanges  in  our  cities  where 
merchants  congregated  for  the  transaction  of 
their  own  business,  and  how  they  have  long 
ago  been  abandoned,  a  swarm  of  brokers  kindly 
acting  as  intermediaries,  while  the  principals 
sit  at  ease  in  their  offices  and  pay  them  their 
commissions,  which  they,  of  course,  charge 
back  again  on  those  poor  devils  the  consumers, 
who  are  persons  of  no  account  when  there  is  a 
question  of  tariff  or  exactions  of  any  kind 
whereby  a  few  men  may  be  benefitted  at  the 
expense  of  many. 

But  it  must  be  admitted  that  by  this  com- 
paratively new  system  of  drumming,  the  coun- 
try merchant  often  finds  that  he  can  purchase 
his  goods  at  a  cheaper  rate  than  when  he  was 
obliged  to  make  his  semi-annual  tours  to  the 
great  cities  to  obtain  his  supplies.  It  used  to 
be  a  costly  trip  for  him,  especially  when,  as 
was  not  unfrequently  the  case,  he  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  Philistines.  One  business  often 
ruins   another ;    that   of    the   decoy   ducks   is 


38  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

gone ;  the  city  hotels  and  places  of  amusement 
have  suffered,  but,  upon  the  whole,  the  con- 
sumer in  this  case  has  not  suffered,  and  the 
country  merchant,  although  by  staying  at  home 
he  loses  the  opportunity  of  getting  brightened 
by  contact  with  the  outside  world,  escapes 
fleecing  and  demoralization. 

As  this  is  necessarily  a  personal  narrative,  I 
may  be  excused  for  bringing  into  it  a  personal 
reminiscence  to  which  I  was  led  by  the  rainy 
days  at  Hartford. 

Francis  Fellows,  a  venerable  gentleman  in  his 
eighty-third  year,  resided  there,  and  was  still 
actively  engaged  in  the  practice  of  law.  In 
1829  and  1830  he  was  one  of  the  principals  of 
a  school  with  a  title  sonorous,  but  not  more  so 
than  it  deserved,  of  "  The  Mount  Pleasant 
Classical  Institution,"  at  Amherst.  Three 
other  teachers  of  a  still  more  advanced  age 
still  live,  and  all,  like  Mr.  Fellows,  are  in 
good  physical  and  mental  condition.  This  is  a 
proof  that  the  large  number  of  boys  under 
their  charge  treated  them  kindly,  and  to-day 
those  of  us  who  survive  hold  them  in  the 
highest  respect  and  affection. 

I  could  not  lose  the  opportunity  of  calling 
on  my  good  old  friend,  and,  although  I  cannot 


MOUNT  PLEASANT  BOYS. 


39 


compare  myself  in  any  other  respect  to  the 
great  apostle,  I  felt  that,  like  him,  I  was  "  sit- 
ting at  the  feet  of  Gamaliel."  He  seemed 
to  remember  the  names  of  all  his  old  pupils 
and  our  various  characteristics.  It  was  grat- 
ifying, because  I  knew  he  was  sincere,  to 
hear  him  say  that,  although  he  was  sometimes 
obliged  to  punish  us,  not  one  of  us  ever  gave 
him  real  pain  by  our  demeanor  toward  him. 
"You  were  a  pretty  good  boy,  John,  though 
not  one  of  the  best,"  he  said ;  "you  liked  play 
better  than  study."  "You  are  right,  sir,"  I 
replied,  "  and  it  is  as  true  now  as  it  was  then." 
Enumerating  several  more,  he  came  to 
Beecher. 

"  Beecher,"  he  said,  "  did  not  study  more 
than  you  did,  but  he  was  a  boy  that  didn't 
need  to  study.  He  had  it  all  in  him  ready  to 
break  out.  The  only  thing  to  which  he  gave 
any  attention  was  elocution.  He  learned  his 
gestures  at  Mount  Pleasant,  and  since  that 
time  he  has  acquired  matter  to  fit  them.  Yes, 
he  was  at  the  head  of  his  class  in  elocution, 
and  I  believe  he  was  at  the  head  of  his  class 
in  wrestling  and  foot-ball.  I  don't  remember 
that  he  was  remarkable  for  anything  else." 

And  so  the  old  teacher  and  the  old  pupil  sat 


40  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

together  and  called  to  mind  the  memories  of 
the  past  and  of  the  school  of  which  I  can  truly 
say,  in  the  words  of  Lowell  at  Harvard : 
"  Dear  old  mother,  you  were  constantly  forced 
to  remind  us  that  you  could  not  afford  to  give 
us  this  and  that  which  some  other  boys  had, 
but  your  discipline  and  diet  were  wholesome, 
and  you  sent  us  forth  into  the  world  with  the 
sound  constitutions  and  healthy  appetites  that 
are  bred  of  simple  fare." 

On  the  next  morning  the  southerly  gale  had 
blown  itself  out  and  a  cold  north-west  wind 
was  sending  the  scud  flying  through  the  sky. 
Fanny,  after  her  rest  of  two  days,  trotted 
briskly  out  of  the  stable  yard  down  through 
the  streets  of  "  Har'ford  town,"  over  the  Con- 
necticut River  bridge,  and  on  to  the  frozen 
ruts  of  the  country  road  toward  Vernon,  the 
first  town  of  importance  on  another  turnpike, 
the  old  "  Boston  and  Hartford,"  a  straight, 
undeviating  line  that  stretched  originally  for  a 
hundred  miles  from  the  eastern  bank  of  the 
Connecticut  to  the  seaboard,  and  can  even  yet 
be  traced  until  it  is  lost  among  the  suburbs  of 
the  metropolis.  Before  noon  we  had  ascended 
its  highest  point  of  elevation,  1500  feet  above 
the  sea  level,  commanding  a  view  of  East  and 


THE  OLD  FRENCHMAN.  4I 

West  rocks  near  New  Haven  in  the  south-west, 
of  Holyoke  range  on  the  north,  of  the  winding 
river  and  of  Nipsig  Lake,  which  lay  almost 
directly  beneath.  For  a  long  distance  habita- 
tions were  scattered  and  far  between. 

Somewhat  further  on  I  came  to  a  house 
lonely,  unpainted,  and  yet  somehow,  I  could 
not  tell  in  what  respect,  different  from  any 
farm-houses  I  had  yet  seen,  except  that 
there  were  certain  indications  of  refinement 
about  it,  evident,  but  not  easily  described. 
At  the  little  wicker  gate  before  it  stood  an  old 
man,  of  whom  I  inquired  as  to  the  distance  of 
the  nearest  town.  He  bowed  politely  and 
replied  with  an  accent  which  told  me  that  he 
was  French.  He  was  overjoyed  when  I  ad- 
dressed him  in  his  native  tongue. 

"Ah,  monsieur,"  he  said,  "  this  is  the  first 
time  out  of  my  own  family  that  I  have  heard 
my  own  language  for  the  forty-five  years  that 
I  have  lived  in  this  lonely  place.  Paris,  did 
you  say?     It  is  different  from  this,  is  it  not?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  I  replied ;  "  I  was  there  only 
a  few  months  ago,  and  I  wish  you  could  be 
there  to  see  the  changes  in  the  half-century  of 
your  expatriation.'*  And  then  I  poured  into 
his  greedy  ears  the  story  of  the  gay  boulevards, 


42  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

the  charming  Champs  Elys^es,  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne,  the  Httle  steamboats  on  the  Seine, 
the  theatres;  and  all  that  makes  the  bright 
capital  of  the  world  so  attractive.  The  tears 
coursed  down  his  cheeks  as  he  sighed  and 
said :  "So  you  have  seen  all  that,  but  tell  me, 
did  you  see  his  tomb  ?  I  would  like  to  see 
the  tomb  of  Napoleon  more  than  everything 
else,  and  then  I  would  come  back  to  this 
wilderness  to  die." 

"It  is  possible,"  I  said,  "that  when  a  child 
you  may  have  seen  the  Emperor." 

"As  a  child!"  he  exclaimed.  "Look  at 
me  ;  how  old  do  you  think  I  am  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  a  little  older  than  myself,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"  Monsieur,  my  age  is  ninety-five  years,"  he 
answered,  and  then  he  drew  his  bent  form  to 
its  full  height,  straight  like  the  telegraph  pole 
at  his  side  ;  his  eyes  flashed  with  the  bright- 
ness of  youth,  and  striking  his  hand  upon  his 
heart,  he  exclaimed  in  words  whose  emphasis 
will  not  bear  translation :  *  ^  Je  suis  vicux  soldat 
de  Napoleon  !  " 

When  I  parted  from  the  veteran,  he  gave 
me  a  military  salute,  and  on  turning  in  my 
saddle  to  look  at  him  once  more,  I  saw  him 


SOLDIERS  OF  THE  EMPIRE.  43 

standing  on  the  same  spot  with  his  arms  folded 
di  rEmptfreur,  lost  in  reveries  of  the  past. 

Since  I  have  made  these  notes  there  has 
appeared  in  the  Boston  Herald  an  interesting 
sketch  of  the  career  of  Francois  Radoux,  born 
in  Brittany  in  1790.  He  too  was  a  soldier  of 
the  empire,  and  was  living  in  Portland,  Me. 
Very  likely  others  still  survive  in  France,  but  it 
is  scarcely  possible  that  there  are  any  more  of 
them  to  be  found  in  the  United  States.  I 
wished  that  these  two  "  venerable  men  who 
have  come  down  to  us  from  a  former  genera- 
tion "  might  be  brought  together  to  embrace 
each  other  and  to  fight  over  those  old  battles 
side  by  side.  Their  stories  would  be  worthy 
of  a  place  in  the  well-worn  Avar  columns  of  the 
Century  magazine. 

But  time  marches  rapidly  on  the  downhill 
grade.  I  have  now  to  make  another  note. 
Radoux  died  a  few  months  ago  and  the  vieux 
soldat  whom  I  met  upon  the  road  stands  guard 
alone  on  the  threshold  of  the  tomb, 

I  drew  up  for  the  night  at  the  hotel  in 
North  Ashford.  It  was  the  old  stage  house  of 
former  days.  Evidently  no  change  had  come 
over  it  but  the  change  of  decay.  It  stood 
close  upon  the  road,  with  a  capacious  stable 


44  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

near  by,  a  porch  with  side  seats  at  the  front 
door,  a  piazza  leading  around  to  the  bar-room 
more  frequently  entered,  planks  here  and  there 
missing,  the  cornices  rotted  off,  blinds  for 
some  windows,  half-blinds  for  others,  no  blinds 
at  all  for  the  rest,  and  before  it  a  gallows  sign 
with  its  paint  obliterated,  so  that  the  form  of 
Gen.  Washington  or  of  a  horse,  whichever  it 
may  be,  could  not  be  traced,  swinging  and 
creaking  on  its  time-worn  hinges.  The  stable, 
of  course,  had  my  first  consideration.  Riding 
over  the  grass-grown  track  to  the  door,  and 
kicking  against  it  to  call  out  some  sign  of  life, 
a  squeaking  voice  responded,  and  presently 
emerged  an  old  man  whose  clothes  and  hair 
were  covered  with  hayseed,  for  he  had  been 
startled  from  his  sleep.  Rubbing  his  eyes 
with  a  dazed  expression,  like  that  of  Rip  Van 
Winkle  as  he  wakes  upon  the  stage,  he  in- 
quired :  "  Who  be  you,  and  what  do  you 
want  ?  " 

"  I  want  my  horse  put  up  for  the  night,"  I 
replied. 

"  Where's  your  cattle  ?  " 

"Cattle?" 

"  Yes,  cattle  ;  ain't  you  driving  ?  " 

"Driving   cattle?     No,   I    came    from    New 


PLENTY  OF  ROOM.  45 

York,  am  going  to  Boston,  and  intend  to  stop 
here  to-night." 

"You  don't  tell!  Hain't  seen  the  like  for 
more'n  forty  year.  We  don't  take  in  a'most 
nobody  but  drovers  now.  Well,  ride  in.  I'll 
bed  your  hoss  down  and  feed  him.  Want  hay 
and  oats  both,  I  suppose." 

The  big  door  was  swung  wide  open,  and  I 
rode  into  an  equine  banquet-hall,  deserted. 

"  Plenty  of  room  here,"  I  remarked,  as  I 
looked  upon  the  double  row  of  horse  stalls, 
many  of  which  were  filled  with  hay,  old  har- 
nesses, disjointed  wagons,  farming  tools,  and 
odds  and  ends  of  everything. 

"  Plenty  of  room  ;  well,  yes,  I  guess  there  is 
now,  but  there  wasn't  plenty  too  much  room 
fifty  year  ago,  mister.  Every  one  of  them 
twenty-four  hoss  stalls  had  change  bosses  goin' 
into  and  comin'  out  of  em.  Oh  Lord,  oh  Lord, 
how  times  has  changed  !  How  when  the  mail 
stage, — Joe  Benham  he  always  drove  it — and 
may  be  two  and  sometimes  three  extries, 
rattled  up  to  the  door  and  the  passingers  tum- 
bled out  to  the  bar-room  and  got  such  new  rum 
as  you  can't  get  noways  now,  and  then 
marched  into  the  eatin'  room  for  their  dinners, 
we  hosiers  used  to  onharness  the  teams,  lead 


46  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

'em  smokin'  into  the  stable,  harness  up  the 
fresh  'uns,  and  have  'em  all  ready  for  a  new 
start.  Joe,  he  allers  'sisted  on  my  holdin'  on 
to  the  nigh  leader  till  he  got  up  and  took  the 
lines.  I  can  see  him  now  and  hear  him  holler, 
'  Let  'em  go,  boy  ! '  And  away  they  went, 
down  the  hill,  extries  after  'em — Joe,  he  allers 
took  the  lead  cause  he  car'd  the  mail — all  in  a 
cloud  of  dust.  Ah,  them  was  the  times — 
times  as  was  times.  Damn  the  railroads!  I 
say.  Well,  you  better  go  into  the  house,  and 
Miss  Dexter'll  git  you  some  supper.  Supper's 
a'most  ready,  and  I'll  be  in  as  soon  as  I've 
bedded  down  your  hoss." 

A  cheery  light  was  gleaming  from  the 
kitchen  and  bar-room  windows  as  I  entered  the 
door  of  the  latter  apartment,  on  which  the 
black-painted  letters  indicating  its  specialty, 
were  still  distinctly  legible.  I  was  cordially 
welcomed,  although  the  same  surprise  was 
manifested  that  I  was  not  in  charge  of  a  drove 
of  cattle  on  my  way  to  Brighton.  "  Has  boy 
Andrew  taken  care  of  your  horse?"  asked  the 
landlord. 

"  I  turned  her  over  to  an  old  man  in  the 
barn,"  I  answered. 

"Oh,  well,"  he  said,  "that's  all  right;  that 


"  BANQUET  HALL  DESERTEOr  47 

was  boy  Andrew.  He  was  a  boy  in  the  old 
stage  time  when  my  father  kept  the  house,  and 
he  has  been  boy  ever  since,  and  always  will  be. 
Supper  will  be  ready  soon.  I'm  right  glad  to 
see  you.  You're  welcome  to  the  best  we've 
got  if  you'll  set  down  with  the  family.  We 
don't  use  the  big  room  any  more."  And  then 
to  show  it,  he  opened  a  door  on  which  "  Din- 
ing-room "  in  faded  characters  often  scrubbed 
over,  was  still  plain  enough.  That  banquet 
hall  too,  was  long  since  deserted  and  used  now 
but  occasionally  for  a  country  ball  to  which 
sleighing  parties  sometimes  come  from  the 
neighboring  villages  and  farm-houses.  The 
long  table  and  the  chairs  had  disappeared  and 
all  the  indications  of  former  occupancy  were 
the  worn  floors,  with  here  and  there  the  pine 
knots  which  refused  to  wear  down. 

As  I  paced  up  and  down  the  cheerless  apart- 
ment, a  sadness  again  came  upon  me  such  as 
all  men  must  feel  in  the  reflection  that  sentient 
beings  like  ourselves  with  throbbing  pulses, 
animal  spirits,  and  thinking  brains,  once  living 
on  God's  beautiful  earth  were  now  mouldering 
beneath  its  ground,  and  that  we  who  occupy 
their  places  must  soon  follow  them,  to  be  fol- 
lowed turn  after  turn,  in  the  ceaseless  round  of 


48  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

existence  and  death,  God  only  knows  why 
He  made  us  to  live  and  to  die. 

Then  the  great  bell  which  had  summoned 
those  now  departed  guests  to  their  meals, 
called  our  little  company  to  supper  in  a  small 
room  adjoining  the  kitchen.  "  All  we  have," 
said  the  landlady  in  excuse,  "  is  tea,  bread  and 
butter,  milk,  tripe,  and  sausages ;  we  are  ten 
miles  from  the  railroad  and  from  any  town,  and 
the  butcher  comes  only  once  a  week,  when  he 
brings  the  newspaper." 

She  needed  not  to  make  any  apology.  In 
company  with  the  family,  including  boy  An- 
drew, who  entertained  me  with  more  reminis- 
cences, I  made  a  hearty  meal.  Soon  afterward 
the  usual  tavern  loungers  made  their  appear- 
ance. The  landlord  was  in  a  jovial  and  gener- 
ous mood. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  *'  we've  got  a  visitor 
to-night,  and  I  am  going  to  treat.  Liquor 
shan't  cost  any  of  you  a  cent.  Call  for  gin  or 
cider  as  much  as  you  want.  The  whiskey  is 
all  out." 

The  invitation  was  accepted  with  alacrity. 
*'  Fetch  on  your  gin,"  was  the  general  demand. 
Afterward  we  had  cider,  then  gin  again,  and  so 
the  gin  and  cider  alternated,  and  if  they  were 


A  FESTIVE  EVENING. 


49 


not  actually  mixed  in  the  glasses,  it  amounted 
to  very  much  the  same  thing.  I  could  fill  these 
pages  with  the  stories  that  were  told  in  the  in- 
tervals of  the  game  of  "  high  low  Jack,"  which 
we  played  with  a  pack  of  well-worn  cards, 
that  had  done  duty,  perhaps,  ever  since  the 
old  stage  times.  But  owing  to  the  circum- 
stances, the  recollection  of  these  stories  is  some- 
what confusing.  It  was  not  exactly  one  of  the 
nodes  anibrosian(2  of  Christopher  North,  but 
the  enjoyment  on  an  inferior  plane  was  like 
unto  theirs. 

The  clock,  which  had  been  set  by  my  watch — 
for,  unknown  to  all  our  friends,  to  whom  it  did 
not  matter,  it  had  been  nearly  an  hour  out  of 
the  way — at  length  admonished  us  that  the 
festivities  should  come  to  an  end.  The  neigh- 
bors bade  me  a  cordial  good-by  and  filed  out 
into  the  cold  air  on  their  homeward  tramp, 
and  the  landlord,  with  a  tallow  dip  in  hand, 
conducted  me  to  my  room.  Again  we 
walked  through  the  dreary  dining-hall,  and 
then  through  a  long  entry-way,  whence  oppo- 
site the  front  door  a  wide  staircase  with 
carved  balustrades  ascended. 

Arriving  at  the  top,  he  opened  the  door  of  a 
large  corner  room  of  four  small-paned  windows 
4 


50  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

with  pendent  blue-paper  curtains  partly  rolled 
and  held  by  white  strings.  He  said  "good- 
night," and  then  I  looked  around  at  the  thread- 
bare carpet,  the  bureau  with  here  and  there  a 
knob,  the  wooden  chairs,  and  the  pine  table 
surmounted  by  basin  and  pitcher.  But  what 
especially  attracted  my  attention  was  the  enor- 
mous four-post  bedstead  with  fluted  columns 
rising  nearly  to  the  ceiling,  the  patchwork  quilt, 
and  the  valance  which  hung  half  way  to  the 
floor.  I  did  not  need  to  open  a  window  for 
air.  Every  sash  was  loose.  The  room  was 
sufificiently  ventilated,  and  it  was  cold  but  not 
damp,  although  a  fire  had  not  probably  been 
lighted  there  for  years  and  years.  So  I  climbed 
up  to  the  elevated  sleeping  plane,  and  falling 
into  a  deep  valley  with  mountains  of  feathers  on 
either  side,  was  soon  asleep,  notwithstanding 
that  north-west  gale  which  beat  its  night-long 
tattoo  on  the  rattling  window  sashes. 

After  an  early  breakfast  I  bade  adieu  to  my 
liberal  host.  Alas  for  him,  he  lives  ten  miles 
from  a  railroad,  and  knows  little  of  the  ways 
of  the  world  and  of  its  impositions  on  the 
guileless  traveller.  I  had  had  two  "square 
meals,"  an  unlimited  supply  of  gin  and  cider, 
and  a  bed ;  Fanny  had  had  good  care,  a  peck 


ARRIVAL  AT  BOSTON.  5 1 

of  oats,  and  all  the  hay  she  could  eat,  and  our 
bill  was  one  dollar.  When  I  put  a  quarter 
into  the  hands  of  the  boy  Andrew,  he  looked 
at  it  intently  before  he  closed  his  fingers  upon 
it,  and  remarked  •  "  Wall,  you  must  have  plenty 
o'  money.  In  the  old  stage  times  passengers 
never  gin  me  more'n  ninepence,  not  many  of 
'em  more'n  fopence  happ'ny,  and  most  of  'em 
nothin*." 

I  still  followed  the  turnpike  to  Hopkinton, 
where  we  passed  the  last  night  before  reaching 
our  destination,  and  arrived  in  Boston  on  the 
next  day,  losing  all  traces  of  the  ancient  turn- 
pike on  reaching  Ashland,  about  fifteen  miles 
from  the  city. 

We  were  six  days  upon  the  road  exclusive 
of  the  involuntary  detention  of  two  days  at 
Hartford.  By  our  route,  which  was  not  so 
direct  as  it  might  have  been  had  I  struck  across 
from  New  Haven,  we  covered  the  distance  of 
211  miles,  an  average  of  about  thirty-five  miles 
per  day,  the  longest  having  been  thirty-nine 
miles,  and  the  shortest,  which  was  the  last, 
twenty-eight. 

Appetite  was  not  wanting  for  my  Thanks- 
giving dinner. 


CHAPTER   III. 

The  Old  Church  and  the  Old  Home. —  The 
Pretty  Neponset. — Changes  in  a  Boston 
Suburb. — A  Story  of  Webster. — Notes  by 
the   Way. —  The  Pilgrims  and  Massasoit. 

It  is  not  so  easy  to  get  out  of  Boston  as  it 
was  before  Boston  stretched  itself  over  the 
surrounding  country,  leaving  the  little  penin- 
sula on  which  it  was  founded,  to  serve  mainly 
for  business  purposes,  while  residences  have 
been  built  up  on  the  newly  acquired  territory. 
Not  content  with  the  absorption  of  Roxbury 
and  Dorchester,  the  city  has  brought  the  more 
distant  country  into  town  by  cutting  down  its 
hills  and  transporting  them  into  the  Back  Bay, 
which  has  now  become  the  home  of  fashion 
and  of  aesthetic  religion. 

Riding  out  over  Washington  Street,  I  call 
to  mind  the  time  when  it  was  "the  Neck,"  I 
remember  when  Lafayette  entered  the  city 
52 


THE  FOREIGN  TIDE.  53 

upon  it  in  1824,  and  how  the  high  water  that 
day  washed  upon  both  sides  of  the  street. 
Since  then  Boston  has  outgrown  herself,  and 
has  overflowed,  because  of  the  foreign  tide 
that  has  poured  in  upon  her.  One  can 
scarcely  take  up  a  Boston  newspaper  without 
reading  columns  of  reminiscences,  in  which 
there  is  always  a  touch  of  sadness,  a  mourning 
for  departed  days.  Wealth  and  splendor, 
population  and  even  culture,  afford  no  conso- 
lation to  these  desponding  antiquarians.  The 
Boston  of  their  fathers,  the  American  Boston, 
has  gone,  and  a  new  Boston,  a  Boston  of 
foreigners,  has  taken  its  place.  When  Dor- 
chester twenty  years  ago  was  annexed,  it 
seemed  very  hard  for  the  '  people  of  that 
ancient  borough  to  give  up  its  name.  They 
thought  that  Boston  should  have  been  an- 
nexed to  Dorchester,  but  they  were  obliged  to 
succumb  to  numbers,  and  the  alien  tide  has 
swept  over  them  too,  and  has  nearly  washed 
out  their  Puritan  Sabbath,  to  which  they  held 
on  longer  with  traditional  reverence  than 
almost  any  other  town  in  Massachusetts. 

I  ride  slowly  and  reverently  by  the  old 
meeting-house  and  by  the  old  homestead 
where  I  was  born.     The  latter  is  sacred  to  my 


54  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

own  heart,  but  the  former  has  a  history  for  the 
public.  Within  its  walls  was  blown  the  first 
bugle  note  of  actual  war  between  orthodoxy 
and  Unitarianism,  in  1811.  There  was  open 
mutiny,  and  an  attempt  to  eject  by  force  from 
his  pulpit  the  minister  who  represented  the 
Trinitarian  creed.  Then  came  a  division,  but 
the  bitter  animosity  engendered  by  this  re- 
ligious strife  lasted  throughout  our  childhood 
and  youth,  enforcing  a  strict  taboo  upon  the 
social  intercourse  of  families,  throwing  a  wet 
blanket  over  our  juvenile  spirits,  and  encour- 
aging no  little  spiritual  pride  among  us  ortho- 
dox children,  who  pitied  the  Unitarian  boys 
and  girls  because  they  were  sure  to  be  damned, 
while  we  could  not  but  envy  them  for  their 
better  opportunities  of  enjoying  the  present 
hfe. 

What  a  commentary  it  all  was  upon  faith 
and  works  !  Wilcox  kept  the  tavern  opposite, 
where  on  Sundays,  before  and  after  meeting, 
he  dispensed  rum  to  his  fellow  church  mem- 
bers. He  was  a  good  man  because  he  believed 
in  the  doctrines  of  the  Assembly's  Catechism. 
If  he  had  denied  them,  and,  conscientiously 
closing  his  bar-room  on  Sundays,  had  still  led 
his  otherwise  exemplary  life,  he  would  have 


THE  STOVE  ENGAGEMENT.  55 

been  condemned  to  eternal  punishment.  But 
he  died  at  peace  with  his  Maker  and  himself. 
My  father,  his  pastor,  wrote  the  lines  which 
may  be  seen  upon  his  gravestone : 

With  faith  and  works  his  life  did  well  accord, 
He  served  the  public  while  he  served  the  Lord. 

Not  many  years  after  the  declaration  of  doc- 
trinal war,  there  arose  in  that  old  meeting- 
house another  controversy  of  startling  propor- 
tions, which  impressed  itself  upon  my  early 
childhood.  This  was  the  hard-fought  stove 
engagement.  The  self-denial  exercised  sixty 
or  seventy  years  ago  for  no  other  purpose 
than  that  of  escaping  future  punishment,  in 
going  to  meeting  through  a  winter's  storm,  to 
sit  upon  hard  seats,  and  to  kick  our  feet  upon 
an  uncarpeted  floor,  the  mercury  sometimes 
below  zero,  through  the  delivery  of  much 
longer  sermons  than  are  inflicted  upon  us  now, 
cannot  be  appreciated  by  those  who  consider 
it  a  pleasure  rather  than  a  duty  to  attend 
churches  where  they  may  recline  on  soft  up- 
holstery in  a  balmy  furnace  heat,  listening  to 
discourses  of  moderate  length  and  of  greater 
scope  and  liberality. 

Then,  families  were  seen  wending  their  way 


56  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

to  their  seats,  some  of  the  children  carrying  in 
their  hands  little  tin  foot-stoves  set  in  slatted 
frames,  so  that  mamma  or  grandmamma  at 
least  might  have  some  comfort  for  her  toes, 
while  steaming  breaths  ascended  from  the 
pews,  and  the  pulpit  seemed  to  be  occupied  by 
a  high-pressure  engine. 

Such  was  the  condition  of  things  in  the  year 
1820  or  thereabouts,  when  some  audacious  in- 
novators proposed  the  introduction  of  stoves 
with  long  ranges  of  pipe  for  heating  the  house. 
The  war  was  fiercely  waged,  but  fortunately  it 
did  not  result  in  another  secession.  At  last 
the  stove  party  was  victorious.  Old  "  Uncle 
Ned  Foster  "  was  foremost  in  the  opposition. 
He  threatened  to  "  sign  off,"  but  finally  he 
concluded  to  remain  loyal  and  sit  it  out.  So 
on  the  first  Sunday  after  the  stoves  had  been 
introduced,  the  old  gentleman  occupied  his 
pew  as  usual,  the  stove-pipe  being  directly  over 
him.  There  he  sat  with  no  very  saint-like  ex- 
pression throughout  the  sermon,  a  red  ban- 
danna  handkerchief  spread  over  his  head,  and 
his  face  corresponding  to  it  in  color.  A  gen- 
eral smile  circulated  through  the  house,  the 
minister  himself  catching  the  infection,  for 
almost  everybody  excepting   Uncle    Ned  was 


THE  STOLEN  RIDE.  57 

aware  that,  the  day  being  rather  warm,  no 
fires  had  been  lighted. 

I  have  gone  back  many,  many  years.  There 
has  not  been  so  much  change  during  all  this 
time  in  the  old  elms,  the  stone  walls,  and  even 
in  the  houses,  but  generations  have  gone  and 
come  and  gone  again  in  these  threescore  years 
and  ten.  We  remember  the  places,  but  "  the 
places  that  once  knew  them  shall  know  them 
no  more." 

Just  beyond  the  old  church  is  a  house  which 
has  undergone  various  transformations  and  is 
now  a  hotel.  It  was  once  occupied  by  Daniel 
Webster.  It  brings  to  mind  the  first  ride  on 
horseback  that  I  can  remember.  Like  all 
stolea  fruit  it  was  sweet,  and  like  stolen  fruit  it 
left  a  bitter  taste.  Fletcher  Webster  and  I, 
little  fellows  of  about  seven  years  old,  used  to 
go  to  school  to  Master  Pierce  on  Milton  Hill. 
As  our  house  was  on  his  way,  Fletcher  was  ac- 
customed to  call  for  me  in  the  morning,  and 
we  returned  together  in  the  afternoon,  being 
boarded  out  for  dinner  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  school-house  at  the  rate  of  twelve  and  one- 
half  cents  each  for  our  meals.  Saturday  after- 
noon of  course  "  school  did  not  keep." 

One  Saturday  morning  Fletcher  came  riding 


58  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

up  to  our  door  bareback  on  his  father's  beauti- 
ful black  mare.  "  Jump  up  behind,  Johnny," 
he  cried  ;  "  father's  gone  to  Boston,  school  will 
be  out,  and  we'll  get  back  before  he  gets 
home ! "  So  Fletcher  and  I  rode  off  down 
through  the  village,  across  the  bridge,  and  up 
the  hill  for  the  rest  of  a  mile  to  the  school.  I 
am  not  sure  whether  the  mare  ran  away  with 
us  or  not.  We  did  not  care,  and  we  were  very 
happy.  We  tied  Bessie  to  a  tree  in  a  clump 
behind  the  school-house  and  went  in  to  apply 
ourselves  diligently  to  our  lessons.  An  hour 
afterward,  Master  Pierce  had  a  class  up  for 
recitation.  It  was  a  warm  day.  The  windows 
and  doors  were  open.  Suddenly  Mr.  Webster 
stalked  into  the  little  school-room.  I  am 
pretty  sure  that  I  shall  not  live  to  the  age  of 
Methuselah,  but  if  I  do  I  shall  not  forget  that 
scene.  The  class  stopped  their  recitation. 
Master  Pierce  stood  still  and  the  ruler  dropped 
from  his  hand  making  the  only  noise  that 
broke  the  dead  stillness.  Mr.  Webster  walked 
up  to  his  son  and  said  in  a  deep  tone,  not  so 
very  loud,  but  which  seemed  to  me  like  a  clap 
of  thunder,  "  Where's  the  mare  !  "  and  then  he 
lifted  Fletcher  from  his  seat  by  the  ear.  He 
told  me  afterward  that  his  father  said  nothing 


THE  OLD  ROAD. 


59 


more  at  the  time  or  when  he  came  home.  He 
merely  went  with  him  to  the  tree  where  the 
mare  was  tied,  unhitched  her,  tied  her  behind 
his  chaise,  and  drove  off. 

Leisurely  and  sadly  two  little  boys  walked 
home  from  school,  and  ever  afterwards,  going 
and  coming,  they  walked. 

Fanny  and  I  again  went  over  the  road  that 
the  two  school-boys  had  so  often  travelled 
sixty-six  years  ago,  down  through  the  village, 
across  the  bridge,  and  up  the  hill.  In  all  this 
time  there  has  scarcely  been  a  change.  Boston 
has  spread  itself  everywhere  but  here.  There 
by  the  roadside  is  the  cemetery,  the  "  burying- 
ground,  "  as  it  is  still  called.  There  lie  the 
early  settlers,  and  should  they  rise  from  their 
graves  to-day,  they  would  recognize  the  sur- 
roundings. There  are  few  new  houses  in 
Milton  Lower  Mills  village ;  the  amber-colored 
water  pours  over  the  dam  with  the  same  cease- 
less music  to  meet  the  salt  tide  of  the  Nepon- 
set  that  flows  to  its  base  ;  the  same  odor  of 
fresh  water  brought  from  its  course  above,  and 
of  the  chocolate  ground  at  the  mills,  pervades 
the  air,  for  memory  treasures  the  fond  associa- 
tions of  all  our  senses.  What  country  child 
grown  to  old  age  does  not  remember  the  sweet 


6o  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

briar,  the  syringa,  or  the  tansy  by  the  wayside 
of  his  home  ? 

Everything  of  sixty-six  years  ago  was  still 
where  it  was  till  we  came  to  the  site  of  the 
little  school-house,  but  the  school-house  is  not. 
More  than  half  a  century  has  passed  since 
Master  Pierce  was  gathered  to  his  fathers. 
Daniel  Webster's  name  alone  is  immortal. 
His  son,  my  little  schoolmate,  died  upon  the 
battle-field,  a  sacrifice  to  the  country  that  was 
so  ungrateful  to  his  illustrious  sire,  while  those 
of  us  who  survive  them  may  thank  God  for 
the  memories  of  the  life  that  has  passed,  for 
the  good  in  the  life  that  now  is,  and  for  the 
hope  of  the  life  to  come. 

It  is  all  like  the  little  river  we  have  just 
crossed,  which  has  meandered  for  miles 
through  rich  meadows,  bringing  away  the  col- 
ors of  their  grasses  and  their  flowers  bright- 
ened by  the  sunlight  falling  upon  the  quiet 
basin  in  which  for  a  time  it  rests  until  it  leaps 
over  the  falls  and  loses  itself,  as  all  rivers  are 
lost  at  last,  in  the  embraces  of  the  boundless 
sea.  But  is  the  pretty  stream  lost  merely  be- 
cause it  has  poured  itself  into  the  ocean? 
Does  it  not  yet  live  in  my  memory  and  in 
thousands  of  other  memories  besides?      It  is 


THE  BLUE  HILLS.  6 1 

one  of  those  things  of  beauty  that  are  joys  for- 
ever. Exhaled  to  the  skies,  it  may  float  "  a 
sun-bright  glory  there,"  and  wafted  to  an- 
other continent,  may  dance  down  from  the 
summits  of  the  Alps  and  water  the  valleys  of 
Switzerland.  No,  there  is  nothing  lost. 
When  we  ourselves,  less  useful  in  the  world 
than  its  rivers,  shall  drift  away  into  the  ocean 
of  eternity,  we,  like  them,  may  be  exhaled  to 
serve  a  better  purpose  in  some  other  sphere 
of  the  universe. 

Half  mounting  Milton  Hill,  we  turn  to  the 
right,  entering  upon  the  old  Taunton  turn- 
pike, and  keeping  a  southerly  course  for  a  few 
miles,  gain  the  highest  point,  which  is  in  the 
notch  of  the  Blue  Hills.  Approaching  it,  and 
afterwards  descending  the  southern  slope  as 
the  mist  hangs  over  the  neighboring  hills,  it 
required  little  effort  of  the  imagination  to 
transport  one's  self  to  the  White  Mountains 
or  the  Sierras,  so  charmingly  delusive  was  the 
scenery  as  it  was  thrown  out  of  proportion  by 
the  hazy  atmosphere.  Thus  we  may  travel 
away  many  miles  at  a  very  cheap  rate,  and 
when  the  sun  breaks  out,  we  may  come  as 
easily  home. 

For  long  reaches  this  old  turnpike  is  little 


02  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

travelled.  In  some  places  the  trees  have 
sought  companionship  in  their  loneliness,  lean- 
ing over  to  each  other  and  intertwining  their 
branches.  Then  again  are  long,  barren 
stretches,  small  villages  with  meeting-houses 
that  were  painted  once,  blacksmiths'  shops 
where  anvils  ring  no  longer,  "  English  and 
West  India  Goods  Stores "  which  have  not 
many  English  or  West  India  goods  to  sell,  be- 
cause population  is  wanting,  for  farms  are  now 
valueless.  Occasionally  as  we  mount  a  hill  we 
get  a  view  of  towns  a  few  miles  upon  the  left, 
the  Randolphs  and  the  Bridgewaters,  with 
their  shiny-spired  churches  and  clustered 
white  houses  and  shops,  manufacturing  towns, 
prosperous  at  the  expense  of  other  people,  and 
in  the  distance  we  hear  the  triumphant  shout 
of  the  iron  horse  and  the  clatter  of  his  hoofs. 

Taunton,  or  Tar'n,  as  it  is  called  by  the  na- 
tives, is  one  of  these  thriving  factory  towns  ; 
and,  moreover,  it  is  an  exceedingly  pretty  town, 
but  its  chief  attractions  for  us  were  a  good 
stable  and  a  well-kept  hotel,  where  it  was 
convenient  to  pass  the  night,  as  we  had  accom- 
plished somewhat  more  than  half  the  distance 
that  separates  Fall  River  from  Boston. 

We  jogged  along  leisurely  on  the  next  day, 


A  ROUGH  COUNTRY.  63 

for  we  had  not  much  more  than  twenty  miles 
to  go  over,  and  the  snow  which  had  fallen  in 
the  night,  and  was  still  falling,  rendered  Fanny 
very  uncomfortable  on  her  feet. 

There  is  little  of  interest  upon  the  road,  bleak 
as  it  is  in  winter  and  scarcely  less  so  in  summer. 
What  brought  our  fathers  to  these  inhospitable 
shores  is  a  question  often  asked,  and  generally 
answered  by  attributing  their  coming  to  a 
special  dispensation  of  Providence.  If  there 
ever  was  such  a  thing  as  a  special  Providence, 
it  manifested  itself  in  the  settlement  of  the  colo- 
nies of  Plymouth  and  Narragansett  Bay.  Al- 
though this  part  of  the  country  was  settled  later 
than  the  neighborhood  about  Boston,  it  now 
has  the  appearance  of  a  greater  age.  It  was  a 
rough  country  to  live  in,  and  a  rough  country 
to  die  in,  as  stony  fields  and  grave-stones  to 
this  day  attest.  To  look  at  this  ground  now, 
whose  great  crop  is  of  rock — grass  and  pasture 
land  being  exceptions  to  the  general  features 
of  the  landscape — we  can  imagine  its  utter 
desolation  before  any  clearings  were  made. 
Who  of  us  would  have  taken  such  a  wilderness 
in  this  cruel  climate  as  a  gift,  and  would  have 
risked  his  life  in  fighting  savages  for  the  main- 
tenance of  such  a  possession  ?  • 


64  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

The  truth  is  that  the  Pilgrims  came  here 
by  accident,  but  when  once  they  had  settled 
down,  they  determined  to  make  the  best  of  it. 

In  Young's  "  History  of  the  Pilgrims,"  if  I 
remember  aright  the  authority,  we  are  told 
that  the  company  of  the  Mayflower  were  in  the 
habit  of  splitting  their  wood  upon  the  quarter- 
deck, and  when  the  axe  was  not  in  use,  they 
laid  it  in  the  binnacle  alongside  of  the  compass, 
which  was  so  affected  by  the  iron,  that  the  ship 
instead  of  bringing  up  at  the  Capes  of  the 
Delaware  or  the  Chesapeake,  made  the  land  at 
Cape  Cod.  The  passengers  could  not  well  get 
away,  and  so,  like  the  fox  who  had  lost  his  tail, 
they  made  a  virtue  of  necessity,  persuading 
themselves  and  others  whom  they  induced  to 
come  after  them,  that  this  was  indeed  a  goodly 
land. 

Robert  Cushman,  who  was  a  sort  of  Com- 
missioner of  Emigration,  issued  an  address  to 
the  English  Puritans  in  1621,  in  which  he  set 
forth  the  attractions  of  this  land  flowing  with 
milk  and  honey,  with  all  the  persuasiveness  of 
a  railroad  pamphleteer  of  the  present  day.  He 
was  also  a  prototype  of  Mr.  Henry  George  in 
his  theory  of  agrarianism.  He  had  no  more 
regard  for  the  rights  of  the  Indians  than  Mr. 


PURITAN  AGRARIANISM.  65 

George  entertains  for  those  of  the  proprietors 
of  real  estate. 

He  says:  "Their  land  is  spacious  and  void, 
and  there  are  few  who  do  but  run  over  the 
grass  as  do  also  the  foxes  and  wild  beasts. 
They  are  not  industrious,  neither  have  art, 
science,  skill,  or  faculty  to  use  either  the  land 
or  the  commodities  of  it  ;  but  all  spoils,  rots, 
and  is  marred  for  want  of  manuring,  gathering, 
ordering,  etc  ?  As  the  ancient  patriarchs  there- 
fore removed  from  straiter  places  into  more 
roomy,  where  the  land  lay  idle  and  waste,  and 
have  used  it  though  there  dwelt  inhabitants  by 
them  (as  Gen.  xiii.,6,  11,  12  and  xxxiv.  21,  and 
xli.,  20),  so  it  is  lawful  now  to  take  a  land  which 
none  useth,  and  make  use  of  it." 

Thus  the  Puritans  quoted  Scripture,  and 
their  descendants  act  upon  the  same  lack  of 
principle  without  their  canting  hypocrisy  when 
they  drive  the  Indians  from  the  reservations 
they  have  conceded  to  them.  But  our  ances- 
tors were  filibusters  in  some  respects  of  a  more 
honest  type  than  those  of  the  present  day. 
They  merely  wanted  a  little  corner  of  the 
"spacious  and  void  land  "  for  themselves,  and 
were  willing  to  leave  the  natives  in  posses- 
sion   of  all   the   rest.       They    endeavored   to 


(!6  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

Christianize  them.  EHot  translated  the  Bible 
into  their  language.  It  was  a  labor  of  years, 
and  when  it  was  completed,  the  tribes  for 
whom  it  was  intended  had  died  out,  but  still 
the  credit  for  it  is  due  to  that  devoted  mis- 
sionary. 

The  Puritans  were  always  ready  to  make 
treaties  and  compromises  before  they  resorted 
to  war  and  extermination.  They  behaved 
much  better  in  this  respect  than  the  Israelites, 
by  whose  example  they  justified  themselves, 
and  than  their  own  descendants,  who  make 
treaties  but  do  not  respect  them. 

As  we  travel  over  this  wide  and  stone-walled 
road  along  the  banks  of  the  river,  beholding 
the  smoke  of  factories  and  hearing  the  noise  of 
machinery  and  railroad-engines,  let  us  close 
our  eyes  and  ears  to  the  surroundings,  and  go 
back  in  our  thought  to  the  time  when  all  this 
was  a  wilderness,  and  to  the  journey  made  by 
Hopkins  and  Winslow  a  few  months  after  the 
colonists  landed  at  Plymouth.  It  is  graphi- 
cally related  by  Winslow  himself,  and  the 
whole  story  may  be  found  in  the  interesting 
work  of  Dr.  Young,  to  which  reference  has  al- 
ready been  made.  Over  the  ground  where  I 
was  riding,  these  two  bold  men,  escorted   by 


MAssASorrs  gratitude.  67 

a  savage,  went  to  visit  Massasoit,  who  dwelt 
upon  yonder  hill  called  Mount  Hope. 

This  is  the  way  the  chief  entertained  them : 
"Victuals  he  offered  none,  for  indeed  he  had 
not  any.  He  laid  us  in  the  bed  with  himself 
and  his  wife,  they  at  one  end  and  we  at  the 
other ;  it  being  only  planks  laid  a  foot  from  the 
ground  and  a  thin  mat  upon  them.  Two  more 
of  his  men  for  want  of  room  pressed  by 
and  upon  us,  so  that  we  were  more  weary  of 
our  lodging  than  of  our  journey." 

Subsequently,  Winslow  gives  a  graceful  nar- 
ration of  their  journey  to  Mt.  Hope,  repeated 
three  years  later.  Their  object  in  visiting  the 
sachem  again,  was  to  comfort  and  relieve  him 
in  his  illness.  Their  kindness  was  amply  re- 
warded, for  whereas  Massasoit  was  perhaps 
likely  to  be  influenced  against  the  English  by 
other  chiefs  and  by  their  jealous  neighbors  the 
Dutch,  the  disinterested  benevolence  added 
to  the  medical  skill  of  Winslow  and  his  com- 
panions, so  touched  his  heart  that  no  repre- 
sentations against  the  colonists  could  after- 
wards have  the  least  effect  upon  this  noble  and 
grateful  soul. 

Policy  would  have  dictated  the  easy  exter- 
mination of   the   whites,  but  gratitude  was  a 


68  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

more  powerful  motive  with  him  than  the  self- 
protection  which  might  properly  have  been 
called  patriotism.  In  whatever  light  the  char- 
acter and  conduct  of  Massasoit  may  be  viewed, 
there  is  little  doubt  that  his  recovery  from 
illness  through  the  instrumentality  of  Winslow 
contributed  largely  to  the  firm  establishment 
of  the  Puritans  and  to  the  ruin  of  the  Indian 
tribes.  When  Massasoit  died,  and  Philip,  a 
wiser  if  not  a  better  man,  endeavored  to  destroy 
the  colonists  in  1675,  he  found  that  it  was  too 
late.  The  cruel  Philip  was  more  patriotic  than 
the  gentle  Massasoit. 

Fanny  and  I  were  more  concerned  with  the 
present  than  with  all  this  that  happened  two 
centuries  and  a  half  ago.  Evening  was  drawing 
on  and  the  snow  was  beginning  to  fall  thick 
and  fast.  Go  on,  Fanny,  carry  me  a  little 
further,  and  then  the  good  steamer  Bristol  shall 
carry  us  both  to  New  York. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Railway  Car,  the  Sleigh,  and  the  Saddle- 
horse. — Preparations  for  the  Ride. — New 
York  Surroundings. — Reminiscence  of  Irv- 
ing.—  English  and  American  Country 
Homes. 

"  O  Winter,  ruler  of  the  inverted  year ; 
Tiiy  scattered  hair  with  sleet  like  ashes  filled, 
Thy  breath  congealed  upon  thy  lips  ;  thy  cheek, 
Fringed  with  a  beard  made  white  with  other  snows 
Than  those  of  age,  thy  forehead  wrapped  in  clouds, 
A  leafless  branch  thy  sceptre — and  thy  throne, 
A  sliding  car,  indebted  to  no  wheels, 
But  urged  by  storms  along  its  slippery  way, 
I  love  thee,  all  unlovely  as  thou  seem'st, 
And  dreaded  as  thou  art." 

It  was  a  cold  January  day  when  I  started 
from  the  stable  in  Fifty-ninth  Street  for  a 
visit  to  the  country.  Railway  travelling  at 
this  season  of  the  year  is  especially  dangerous. 
Axles  are  more  liable  to  break.  Three  fearful 
accidents  from  this  cause  had  lately  been 
recorded.  For  years  after  the  introduction  of 
69 


yO  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

railroads  in  England,  orders  were  given  to 
reduce  the  speed  on  frosty  days,  but  now, 
although  the  risk  is  the  same,  speed  is  con- 
sidered to  be  of  more  importance  than  human 
life.  So  we  rattle  on,  satisfying  ourselves 
from  statistics  that  the  average  of  death  from 
such  causes  is  small,  and  calculating  with  rea- 
sonable probability  that  we  shall  not  be 
counted  among  the  dead.  The  same  theory 
prevails  as  to  the  warming  and  lighting  of 
cars.  The  great  mortality  from  train  wrecks 
comes  from  the  overturning  of  stoves  and  the 
bursting  of  kerosene-oil  lamps.  But  who  con- 
siders that  ?  We  estimate  the  averages,  and 
feel  reasonably  sure  that  we  shall  not  be 
among  the  victims. 

Aside  from  the  danger  from  a  stove,  the 
stove  is  a  villanous  thing  anywhere,  notably 
in  a  railroad  car.  It  burns  up  the  oxygen  of 
the  air,  and  is  accountable  for  much  of  the 
pneumonia  which  at  the  present  day  hurries 
people  out  of  life.  As  an  abomination  it  is 
second  only  to  steam-pipes. 

Englishmen  know  some  things  better  than 
we  do.  We  can  teach  them  something  about 
baked  beans,  the  frying-pan,  a  beneficent  pro- 
tective tariff,  and  more,  but  in  sanitary  science 


THE  MURDEROUS  KEROSENE  LAMP.         7  I 

they  are  our  superiors.  You  will  never  find  a 
stove  in  an  English  railway  carriage.  Their 
idea  is  that  it  is  quite  sufficient  to  keep  the 
feet  warm  and  not  to  exhaust  the  lungs  or 
stupefy  the  brain.  Passengers  are  provided 
with  cylinders  of  hot  water,  renewed  as  oc- 
casion requires,  on  which  to  place  their 
feet  ;  they  are  therefore  safe  from  stove  acci- 
dents. In  the  early  railroad  days  of  this  coun- 
try the  cars  were  lighted  by  enormous  candles, 
giving  all  the  illumination  that  was  necessary 
for  ordinary  purposes.  If  the  car  was  over- 
turned, the  candles  extinguished  themselves 
without  causing  any  damage.  But  the  insati- 
able greed  for  reading,  to  which  the  newsboys 
so  much  contribute,  has  supplanted  the  inno- 
cent candle  with  the  murderous  kerosene 
lamp,  which  in  a  collision  scatters  destruction 
far  and  wide.  The  public  must  be  accommo- 
dated at  the  risk  of  their  eyes  at  all  times,  of 
their  lives  sometimes ;  and  when  disasters 
come,  the  railroad  company  is  blamed,  justly 
in  a  degree,  but  unjustly  inasmuch  as  the  very 
thing  complained  of  is  demanded  by  this  inex- 
orable public. 

All  this  is  not  irrelevant.      If  it  shall  be  pro- 
ductive of  good  to  call  attention  to  it,  it  will 


72  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

be  better  than  anything  else  I  may  have  to 
say.  Besides,  I  am  making  my  point.  In  win- 
ter it  is  better  to  travel  by  some  other  means 
than  the  railway.  Sleigh-riding  comes  next. 
That  is  not  immediately  dangerous,  although 
severe  colds,  conducive  to  fatal  results,  may 
be  contracted.  I  will  admit  that  there  is  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  pleasure  in  it.  At  least,  it  was 
pleasurable  in  former  days.  One  of  its  attrac- 
tions for  me  has  been  lost  since  we  hear  no 
more  the  merry  jingling  of  those  great  round 
bells  that  were  banded  over  the  horse's  back. 
It  is  not  now  the  fashion  to  carry  them,  and  if 
anything  supplies  their  place,  it  is  a  tinkling 
plaything,  heard  by  the  foot  passenger  just  as 
he  is  about  to  be  run  over. 

There  are  still  some  of  those  old  Dutch  and 
New  England  sleighs  existing  only  as  curios- 
ities. They  were  made  for  comfort  rather 
than  for  speed.  The  fancy  sleighs  of  to-day 
have  scarcely  more  back  support  than  summer 
trotting  wagons.  They  are  provocative  of 
rheumatism  and  kidney  complaints.  The  seat 
has  hardly  room  for  more  than  one  person, 
and  if  two  occupy  it,  it  is  greatly  to  their  dis- 
comfort. This  is  not  sleigh-riding  as  we  used 
to  understand  it.     "  Boxes  "  were  they,  those 


HEALTHFUL  LOCOMOTION.  73 

old  sleighs?  Perhaps  so,  but  very  comforta- 
ble boxes,  high-backed,  protecting  the  shoul- 
ders and  the  neck,  high  sided,  bottoms  deeply 
covered  with  straw  ;  they  were  sleighs  we  got 
into,  not  upon  ;  there  was  abundance  of  room 
for  a  companion,  and  when  we  were  ensconced 
in  that  box  and  so  covered  over  with  buffalo 
skins  that  nobody  could  see  exactly  what  we 
were  doing,  and  a  merry  song  chimed  in  with 
the  music  of  those  big  bells,  that  was  sleigh- 
ridinsf — with  warm  hearts  instead  of  cold  backs 
and  freezing  toes. 

There  are  two  modes  of  healthful  locomo- 
tion left  to  us,  pedestrianism  and  horseback 
exercise.  I  make  no  account  of  the  unnatural 
bicycle,  which  doctors  tell  us  is  productive  of 
serious  disorders  when  used  to  excess.  Walk- 
ing is  a  solitary  entertainment.  It  has  no  vari- 
ety in  its  measured  step,  although  it  is  valu- 
able for  its  economy  when  time  is  not  consid- 
ered. But  there  is  the  companionship  of  the 
horse,  and  the  change  of  gait  bringing  many 
muscles  into  play,  which  give  a  peculiar  zest  to 
riding.  In  summer  the  rapid  motion  prevents 
a  concentration  of  the  sun's  rays,  but  it  is  in 
winter  that  it  starts  the  blood  into  circulation, 
and   if  the  nose   becomes  red,   the  cheeks  are 


74  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

red  also  and  the  glow  of  health  pervades  the 
whole  body.  With  proper  precautions,  the 
riderneeds  not  to  suffer  from  cold  even  in  the 
severest  weather. 

The  mercury  stood  fifteen  degrees  above 
zero  when  I  started  from  the  stable  on  my 
ride.  I  cannot  call  to  remembrance  the  novel, 
but  it  is  one  of  Scott's,  where  the  hero  is  about 
to  start  for  the  Highlands  in  company  with  an 
old  farmer,  who,  before  commencing  the  jour- 
ney, carefully  wraps  the  steel  stirrups  with 
straw  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  their  feet 
warm.  I  have  always  remembered  the  hint, 
and  have  found  the  practice  to  be  effectual. 
Avoid  at  all  times,  on  foot  or  on  horseback, 
especially  on  horseback,  the  unhealthful  India- 
rubber  boot  or  shoe.  They  are  inventions  of 
the  undertaker.  If  you  would  keep  your  feet 
warm  and  dry,  put  on  thick-soled  boots  of 
thick  upper  leather  too,  not  by  any  means 
tight,  and  wear  thin  cotton  socks  with  woollen 
socks  over  them,  and  when  riding  in  very  cold 
weather,  felt  overshoes  over  the  boots.  These 
are  not  in  general  use,  and  I  have  had  some 
diiificulty  in  obtaining-  them.  In  response  to 
numerous  inquiries,  the  shoe-dealers  told  me 
that  they  had  not  this  article.      At  last  a  face- 


PREPARATrONS  FOR  RIDING.  75 

tious  shop-keeper  said  that  he  had  plenty  of 
felt  slippers,  and  that  he  had  one  pair  made 
for  a  Chicago  girl  which  were  not  large 
enough  for  her,  but  he  thought  they  might  go 
on  over  my  boots.  They  did.  So  much  for 
stirrups  and  boots. 

To  change  to  the  head.  Put  your  soft  felt 
hat  in  your  pocket.  Wear  a  toboggan  cap, 
which  may  be  pulled  down  over  your  ears,  and 
over  your  nose  if  need  be,  while  you  look 
through  the  meshes.  Wear  a  cardigan  jacket, 
and  button  your  pea-jacket  tightly  around 
your  neck.  Carry  your  stable-blanket  in  this 
wise,  remembering  that  you  are  to  use  a 
McClellan  saddle,  as  I  counselled  you  to  do 
not  long  ago;  double  the  blanket,  and,  leaving 
just  enough  to  go  under  the  saddle,  allow  the 
most  of  it  to  fall  over  the  horse's  neck  till  you 
are  mounted.  Having  mounted,  pull  the  re- 
mainder of  it  over  your  legs,  and  start,  for 
now  you  are  ready.  You  may  face  snow- 
storms and  blizzards,  and  you  will  actually 
enjoy  them  as  I  did. 

I  was  bound  to  Irvington,  for  my  first  stop- 
ping place,  and  after  riding  through  the  park, 
and  bestowing  pity  upon  some  friends  whom  I 
met  perched  upon  their  skeleton  sleighs,  vainly 


^6  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

imagining  that  they  were  enjoying  themselves, 
I  struck  out  upon  Jerome  Avenue,  which 
appeared  to  be  leading  in  the  right  direction  ; 
but  I  soon  found  that  I  was  heading  for 
Woodlawn,  the  city  of  the  dead,  for  a  sarcastic 
milkman  informed  me  that  I  was  going  all 
right  if  I  wanted  to  be  buried,  but  that  if  I 
wanted  to  live  a  little  while  longer,  and  to  get 
to  Irvington  before  night,  it  would  be  better  to 
strike  across  the  country  and  find  Broadway. 

I  don't  think  any  cockney  has  an  idea  of  the 
crooked  lanes  that  have  been  laid  out,  like  the 
streets  of  Boston  by  cows,  within  a  few  miles 
of  New  York.  I  would  sooner  take  my  chance 
of  getting  anywhere  on  a  Western  prairie  than 
of  finding  my  way  out  of  town  above  Harlem 
without  assistance.  However,  Fanny  and  I, 
by  a  combination  of  instinct,  moderate  intel- 
ligence, and  persistent  inquiry,  at  last  came  in 
sight  of  the  North  River,  and  headed  up 
stream.  It  was  Broadway,  as  it  is  called  until 
it  reaches  Albany — not  the  Broadway  of  salted 
railroad  tracks  and  dirty  slush,  bordered  by 
shops  and  hotels ;  but  a  Broadway  now  of 
clean  white  snow,  in  summer  of  macadamized 
road,  shaded  by  oaks,  elms,  firs,  and  pines. 
Now,  the  bare  limbs  of  the  great  trees  form  a 


COUNTRY  HOMES.  yj 

network  through  which  we  see  the  Hudson, 
beautiful  at  all  seasons,  and  the  evergreens, 
festooned  with  their  wintry  robes  glittering  in 
the  sunlight,  are  clothed  in  their  gayest  at- 
tire. 

From  New  York  to  Poughkeepsie,  and  even 
beyond,  there  is  a  constant  succession  of  com- 
fortable, elegant,  and  sometimes  ostentatious 
country  houses,  owned  by  New  York  citizens, 
many  of  them,  chiefly  of  the  latter  class,  oc- 
cupied merely  as  summer  residences.  The 
comfortable  and  the  elegant,  which  are  by  no 
means  separate  or  incompatible,  mostly  pre- 
vail, and  the  good  taste  of  their  owners  in- 
clines them  to  live  in  them  all  the  year  round. 

There  are  many  things  that  are  "  English, 
you  know,"  and  there  is  nothing  more  ridicu- 
lous than  American  servile  imitations  of  for- 
eign customs  when  they  are  not  adapted  to 
our  country  or  to  our  circumstances.  But 
there  is  much  that  we  can  learn  from  England, 
and  the  refusal  to  avail  ourselves  of  English 
example  when  it  points  out  an  improvement 
in  our  society  or  condition  is  almost  as  absurd 
as  toadyism  and  preposterous  imitations  of 
language  and  dress.  The  English  country 
gentleman  has  been  an  "  institution,"  yes,  he 


78  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

has  been  instituted,  fixed,  established  in  Brit- 
ain for  centuries.  The  English  castle  and 
manor-house  have  been  and  are  still  the  scenes 
which  English  novelists  most  delight  to  pict- 
ure. Comfort,  that  charming  English  word 
for  which  there  is  no  French  equivalent,  is 
centered  in  them. 

Beautiful  as  they  are  in  summer,  with  their 
parks  and  green  lawns,  it  is  in  the  winter  that 
they  are  at  their  best.  It  is  in  the  winter  that 
people  "run  down  to  the  country"  for  their 
most  perfect  enjoyment.  Christmas  was  made 
for  the  country.  Those  Christmas  holidays ! 
That  blessed  season  of  family  reunions,  of 
unbounded  hospitality,  of  universal  benev- 
olence commemorating  the  birth  of  Christ  as 
he  would  have  it  observed !  He  may  have 
been  the  predicted  "  man  of  sorrows  and  ac- 
quainted with  grief,"  but  if  I  read  his  history 
aright,  he  who  feasted  with  Pharisees,  publicans, 
and  sinners  alike,  was  of  a  temperament  so 
happy  and  genial  that  he  would  look  with  more 
favor  on  gatherings  like  these  than  upon  the 
life-long  fasts  and  penances  of  fanatical  priests 
and  saints.  Christmas,  merry  Christmas  !  Yes, 
he  intended  that  it  should  be  merry.  He  meant 
that  man   should  be  happy,  not  miserable,  for 


WASHINGTON  IRVING.  yg 

it  was  from  misery  that  he  came  to  redeem 
him. 

If  English  writers  have  done  so  much  to 
impress  us  with  the  joys  of  their  country  life, 
the  purest  writer  of  the  purest  prose  in  Amer- 
ica has  surpassed  all  of  them  in  such  descrip- 
tions. Where,  then,  should  he  be  more  appre- 
ciated than  by  those  who  dwell  about  his  old 
home !  Truly,  the  proverb  is  sometimes  at 
fault.  This  prophet  is  held  in  honor  in  his  own 
country.  I  once  visited  him  at  Sunnyside.  It 
was  Sunnyside.  He  must  have  unconsciously 
named  it  for  himself,  for  he  was  the  sunshine 
of  all  around  him. 

Among  all  classes  along  the  bank  of  the 
Hudson  he  was  personally  known  and  loved. 
A  few  days  before  we  called  upon  him  he  had 
been  strolling  about  the  country  and  had  inad- 
vertently crossed  a  farmer's  field.  The  owner, 
supposing  him  to  be  a  tramp,  had  ordered  him 
off  with  coarse  and  insolent  words;  but  having 
discovered  his  mistake,  he  came  to  the  cottage 
to  offer  his  apology  in  most  abject  terms.  "  I 
was  very  sorry,"  said  the  courteous  old  man — 
"  not  because  of  what  he  had  said  to  me  in  the 
first  instance,  but  for  his  needless  humiliation 
when  he  came  to  see  me.     However,  I  think 


8o  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

that  in  future  anybody  may.  walk  over  his 
grounds  without  being  molested,  for  he  prom- 
ised me  that,  and  so  I  am  more  than  even  with 
him." 

The  writings  of  Irving  and  his  dwelling  at 
Sunnyside  have  built  up  many  Bracebridge 
Halls  in  his  neighborhood.  Into  one  of  them 
I  was  thus  pleasantly  introduced.  Riding  up 
the  hill  leading  to  Riverdale  I  was  overtaken 
by  another  horseman.  Acquaintance  on  the 
road  is  often  made  by  complimentary  remarks 
upon  the  animals  we  ride.  Thus,  "  That  is  a 
nice  pony  of  yours,"  to  which  the  reply  is 
returned,  "  Yes,  and  I  was  just  noticing  the 
pretty  head  of  yours."  The  ice  of  convention- 
ality is  at  once  broken  and  the  stream  of 
conversation  flows  on.  Men  can  commit  them- 
selves to  it  without  compromising  their  char- 
acters. It  is  different  with  women.  They 
institute  and  undergo  a  great  deal  of  prelim- 
inary examination.  Women  have  less  confi- 
dence in  each  other  than  men.  They  go  to 
church  more  frequently  and  call  themselves 
miserable  sinners  with  more  sincerity.  But 
they  are  not  such  miserable  sinners  as  we  are. 
They  are  vastly  better,  and  yet  they  are  more 
afraid  of  contamination  from  each  other.     Be- 


A   WELCOME  INVITATION.  8 1 

fore  they  will  make  any  advances,  they  take 
long  and  accurate  surveys  of  physiognomy, 
contour,  and  dress,  listening  with  all  their  ears 
for  an  indication  of  good  or  bad  breeding  in 
the  language  the  object  of  avoidance  or  associ- 
tion  may  use  in  addressing  a  third  party,  and  if 
such  an  one  be  not  present,  perhaps  to  the 
orders  given  to  a  waiter  at  the  table.  The  ice 
to  be  broken  is  much  thicker  than  ours,  but 
when  it  once  is  broken,  the  stream  flows  on  with 
a  rapidity  that  it  is  impossible  for  us  to 
match. 

"  You  will  hardly  get  to  Irvington  in  time  for 
lunch,"  said  my  young  friend.  "  Here  is  the 
avenue  leading  to  our  house  and  I  am  sure  that 
my  mother  and  family  will  be  glad  to  welcome 
you."  The  invitation  was  accepted  with  the 
cordiality  with  which  it  was  given  and  thus  a 
delightful  addition  was  made  to  the  store  of 
my  country  friends. 

It  was  through  the  gate-way  of  an  avenue 
leading  to  another  mansion  like  unto  that 
where  I  had  been  so  pleasantly  entertained,  that 
as  evening  was  advancing,  I  turned  my  horse, 
arriving  under  the  porte-cochere  just  as  my 
genial  host  was  driving  up  in  his  sleigh  from 
the  station,  and  as  the  young  people  were 
6 


82  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

coming   in    from    their   healthful    exercise    of 
coasting. 

It  was  scarcely  the  time  to  draw  the  curtains 
over  the  homelike  scene  of  a  blazing  wood  fire 
throwing  alternate  lights  and  shadows  upon  the 
ceiling,  and  glowing  upon  the  faces  of  the 
ladies  of  the  household,  to  whom  notice  had 
been  given  by  the  jingling  bells  that  it  was  the 
hour  for  the  "  five  o'clock  tea."  That,  too,  is 
"  English,  you  know,"  and  it  is  one  of  the 
choice  importations  from  the  old  country,  to 
which  not  even  the  most  selfish  protectionist 
of  home  customs  who  has  felt  its  soothing 
influence  can  object.  Let  temperance  people 
also  make  a  note  of  it,  for  it  is  coming  to  take 
the  place  of  the  appetizing  cocktail.  The  city 
resident  cannot  fully  appreciate  it.  To  give  it 
zest  it  needs  the  transition  from  the  frosty  air 
to  the  snug  comfort  of  the  country  home,  from 
the  out-of-door  twilight  to  the  interval  within 
doors  when  there  is  a  suspension  between  day 
and  night,  when  there  is  yet  light  enough  to 
see,  but  not  light  enough  to  read.  That  is  it 
exactly ;  that  is  the  intervening  half-hour 
when  business  cares  fade  away  and  domestic 
joys  take  their  place. 


THE  DINNER  HOUR.  83 

"Now  stir  the  fire  and  close  the  shutters  fast, 
Let  fall  the  curtains,  wheel  the  sofa  round, 
And  while  the  bubbling  and  loud-hissing  urn 
Shoots  up  a  steaming  column,  and  the  cups 
That  cheer  but  not  inebriate  wait  on  each. 
So  let  us  welcome  peaceful  evening  in.  " 

lam  a  cosmopolitan.  I  can  dine  anywhere 
— even  at  a  railway  station.  1  am  used  to 
being  summoned  to  dinner  by  the  sound  of 
bell  or  gong,  to  seeing  all  the  supplies,  from 
soup  to  ice-cream,  piled  upon  the  table  at 
once  ;  used  to  everything,  for  I  was  once  used 
to  cutting  my  share  of  salt  junk  from  the  kid 
with  my  sheath  knife  ;  but  now,  although  I  do 
not  think  that  any  one  has  the  right  to  re- 
proach me  with  aestheticism,  I  like  to  see  a 
well-dressed  butler — not  a  flunky,  but  one 
who  is  valuable  for  his  usefulness,  and  not 
disgusting  because  of  his  superciliousness — I 
like  to  see  such  an  one  open  the  door  and 
make  his  bow,  to  hear  him  announce  that  the 
dinner  is  served.  I  know  that  in  this  Brace- 
bridge  Hall  there  is  a  meaning  jn  it. 

Excessive  is  the  politeness  of  the  gargon  of 
a  French  table  d'hote  as  he  appears  with 
napkin  over  his  arm,  but  we  have  no  assurance 
that  the  dinner  will  commend  itself  to  us.       I 


84  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

once  heard  the  question  of  diet  discussed. 
There  were  various  theories  suggested  as  to 
carbonaceous,  and  nitrogenous  food,  the  di- 
gestibleness  of  some  things,  the  indigestible- 
ness  of  others.  But  it  seemed  to  me  that  the 
question  was  settled  by  a  bright,  intelHgent, 
healthy  woman  who  observed  :  "  I  don't  think 
it  makes  so  much  difference  what  or  how  much 
we  eat.  It  all  depends  on  the  company  with 
whom  we  eat  it."  Certainly  in  this  case  that 
chief  requisite  was  at  hand,  with  all  the  taste- 
ful appointments  of  the  table. 

More  I  will  not  say  of  the  charming  hospi- 
tality of  my  friend  and  of  his  family,  of  the 
delightful  evening  in  his  library,  where  I  saw 
nothing  of  the  books  but  their  covers,  for 
social  intercourse  was  to  me  more  agreeable 
than  anything  they  might  contain.  Nor  will  I 
say  much  of  the  billiards  at  which  later  on  I 
gained  but  an  occasional  victory,  nor  of  the  in- 
ternal night-cap,  the  dreamless  night,  the  sub- 
stantial breakfast,  the  kind  good-byes,  the  cor- 
dial invitation  to  come  again,  which  I  never 
decline.  I  have  sought  to  give  a  sketch  of 
American  country  houses  in  the  winter.  It  is  a 
family  picture  which  may  be  reproduced  in 
the  memory  of  my   readers,  and  I  trust  that 


THE  DINNER  HOUR.  85 

its  general  traits  are  so  familiar  to  them  that 
I  shall  not  have  done  violence  to  the  modesty 
of  my  hosts  by  taking  their  homes  for  illus- 
trations. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  Hudson  in  Winter. —  Snow  Pictures. — 
Castles  and  Ruins. —  The  River  Towns. — 
Story  of  Andre. —  Legend  of  Sleepy 
Hollow. —  The  Grave  of  Irving. 

It  was  a  bright  frosty  morning  when  Fanny 
and  I  left  Irvington — upward  bound  along 
the  eastern  bank  of  the  Hudson.  More  snow 
had  fallen  during  the  night  covering  the 
sleigh  tracks  on  the  road,  and  now  the  fresh 
north-west  gale  set  the  storm  again  in  motion 
from  the  ground,  whirling  the  snow  in  fan- 
tastic wreaths  and  shaking  it  down  in  huge 
flakes  from  the  overladen  firs.  It  was  some- 
what blinding  to  the  eyes  and  cutting  to  the 
cheeks,  it  is  true,  but  one  is  always  willing  to 
pay  a  fee  for  a  view  of  a  fine  picture,  and  this 
trifling  inconvenience  was  but  a  small  tribute 
to  Nature  for  the  exhibition  of  her  wonderful 
panorama  of  field  and  woodland,  hills  and  dis- 
tant mountains,  with  the  broad  intervening 
86 


CASTLES  AND  RUINS.  8/ 

river,  whose  surface,  like  everything  far  and 
near,  was  covered  with  a  mantle  that  sparkled 
in  the  sunlight. 

It  has  been  often  said  with  truth  that  all 
that  is  needed  by  our  river  to  make  it  as 
picturesque  as  the  Rhine  or  the  Rhone,  is  his- 
tory and  its  accompaniments.  We  have  now  the 
green  banks,  the  widened  lakes,  the  narrow 
channels,  palisades,  and  highlands,  as  beauti- 
ful and  as  romantic  as  theirs ;  but  they  tell  us 
that  we  have  no  such  castles  and  ruins.  Still 
we  are  making  the  attempt  to  equal  them. 
Greystone,  for  instance,  represents  a  castle  with 
some  effect.  It  has  not  the  merit  of  ugliness 
certainly,  but  from  its  commanding  height  it 
is  quite  as  desirable  a  structure  to  the  eye  as 
if  it  had  more  of  fancied  architectural  merit  and 
had  been  built  a  thousand  years  ago.  We  are 
trying  our  'prentice  hand  at  ruins,  too.  Our 
great  landscape  painter,  Bierstadt,  has  offered 
an  unwilling  contribution  to  such  scenic  effect. 
A  few  miles  above  Greystone,  perched  upon  a 
high  hill  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road,  stood 
his  stately  mansion.  The  fire  has  been  more 
powerful  than  his  brush.  It  has  made  a  picture 
that  can  be  seen  for  miles  around,  of  lone 
chimneys   and   blackened  walls,   such   as    the 


88  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

American  tourist  would  hail  with  rapture  if  he 
should  get  a  glimpse  of  them  from  a  steamboat 
on  the  Rhine. 

Time  will  perhaps  bring  us  our  share  of 
ruins,  and  then  the  Hudson  will  meet  the 
approbation  of  the  antiquary  and  the  tourist  ; 
but  the  lover  of  nature  cannot  reverse  the 
engine  of  progress  and  turn  the  wheels  of  the 
ages  back  to  the  past.  He  can  never  see  the 
Hudson  again  as  he  may  see  the  Columbia 
now,  rolling  down  through  its  forests,  its 
silence  broken  only  by  the  thunder,  the  storm, 
and  the  screams  of  wild  fowl  and  beasts. 

Nor  is  it  certain  that  the  future  has  anything 
in  store  to  replace  this  charming  picture  of  the 
past.  There  are  not  likely  to  be  any  enduring 
ruins.  Every  stone  of  a  dismantled  building 
will  be  utilized  by  our  practical  descendants  for 
a  new  house,  for  a  railroad,  or  a  garden  wall, 
and  the  Hudson  will  never  be  more  beautiful 
and  attractive  than  it  is  to-day. 

These  river  towns  are  all  much  alike,  sloping 
down  from  the  Broadway  road  to  the  water- 
side with  the  same  gradations,  country-seats 
of  the  rich  from  the  city,  comfortable  homes 
of  the  "  well-to-do "  residents,  stores  and 
shops,  rookeries,  saloons,  and  coal-yards,  which 


RIVER  TOWNS.  89 

border  on  the  railroad  and  the  river.  Thus, 
society  is  defined  by  the  grade  of  the  land,  and 
the  two  extremes  would  be  antagonistic  did 
not  the  happy  medium  preserve  the  balance. 

In  the  olden  time  most  of  the  population 
was  located  by  the  docks  for  commercial  con- 
venience, the  dwellers  upon  the  stage-road 
above  subsisting  on  what  they  gained  as 
hangers-on  around  the  tavern  and  the  stables. 
Most  of  those  old  caravansaries  have  long  ago 
been  demolished  or  put  to  other  uses.  The 
Vincent  House,  however,  still  holds  its  own 
on  the  turnpike  at  Tarrytown,  modernized 
somewhat,  but  yet  affording  entertainment  for 
man  and  beast. 

When  1  stop,  as  I  sometimes  do,  and  enter 
its  bar-room  with  motive  undisguised,  I  meet 
the  faces  of  men  whom  I  have  known  for  years, 
fixtures  there — men  who  know  everything, 
because  their  fathers  and  grandfathers  knew 
everything,  and  told  it  to  them,  about  Revolu- 
tionary times.  They  do  not  agree  in  their 
knowledge,  but  that  is  a  matter  of  small  ac- 
count. "  Them  fellers  that  captured  Andr6," 
said  one  of  them,  "  were  part  of  a  gang  of 
Skinners.  You  needn't  talk;  shut  up.  I've 
heard  my  gran'ther  tell  all  about  it,  and  don't 


90  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

you  s'pose  he  knew  ?  Andr^  he  didn't  have 
nnoney  enough  about  him.  That  was  what 
was  the  matter  ;  and  they  cal'lated,  they  did, 
that  Gen.  Washington's  cash  was  better  than 
the  Britisher's  promises." 

"  Well,  hain't  I  heard  my  gran'ther  talk  about 
it,  too?"  responded  another  resident  of  the 
bar-room.  "  He  knowed  'em,  he  did,  individ- 
ooally,  and  he  said  that  if  Andre's  stirrups, 
saddle,  horse,  and  all  had  been  made  of  solid 
gold,  and  he'd  offered  it  to  'em,  they  wouldn't 
have  looked  at  it  no  more  than  they  would  at  a 
copper  cent." 

"  I've  hearn'  tell,"  chimed  in  a  little  old  man, 
"  that  the  trouble  with  Andr^  was  that  he  was 
out  o'  rum,  and  they  wanted  him  to  treat,  and 
he  couldn't.  'Tell  you,  if  he  had  a  got  oiT  it 
would  a  been  a  lesson  for  him  in  future — never 
git  out  o'  rum.  Ef  his  flask  had  not  gin  out, 
he  could  have  said  :  *  Come,  boys,  let's  set  down 
here  on  the  bank,  take  a  drink,  and  talk  over 
things  good-natured.'  There  would  not  have 
been  no  occasion  for  pulling  off  his  boots." 

This  suggestion  was  new  to  me,  but  the  pro- 
pounder  was  not,  perhaps,  far  out  of  the  way 
in  his  general  idea  that  a  little  more  tact 
would    have   saved    Andr6.     Dr.   Coutant,   an 


CAPTURE  OF  ANDR^.  9 1 

intelligent  physician  of  the  town,  who  has 
gathered  a  fund  of  information  pertaining  to 
the  early  history  of  Westchester  County,  does 
not  credit  the  captors  with  any  patriotic 
motive. 

There  is  documentary  evidence,  made 
public  by  the  Rev.  Daniel  W.  Teller  ten  years 
ago,  which  settles  the  question  absolutely,  and 
displays  the  conduct  of  the  three  "patriots," 
in  a  worse  light  than  it  had  ever  been  viewed 
before.  The  gravest  accusation  that  previ- 
ously had  been  made  against  them  was  that 
before  they  knew  anything  more  of  their 
prisoner  than  that  he  was  a  British  ofificer, 
they  had  expressed  their  willingness  to  release 
him  if  he  could  offer  them  a  sufficient  induce- 
ment in  money ;  but  it  now  appears  that  after 
having  discovered  the  compromising  papers  in 
his  boot,  they  agreed  upon  a  sum  of  500  or 
1000  guineas  as  his  ransom,  and  that  the 
negotiation  failed  simply  because  they  could 
not  obtain  satisfactory  security  that  it  would 
be  paid.  Gen.  Washington  was  not  aware  of 
all  that  had  transpired  between  Andre  and 
his  captors  when  he  made  his  first  report,  in 
which  he  says  : — 

"  A   combination    of   extraordinary   circum- 


92  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

stances  and  unaccountable  deprivation  of  mind 
in  a  man  of  the  first  abilities,  and  the  virtue  of 
three  militia  men,  threw  the  Adjutant  General 
of  the  British  forces  (with  full  proof  of 
Arnold's  intention)  into  our  hands ;  and  but 
for  the  egregious  folly  or  the  bewildered  con- 
ception of  Lieut.-Col.  Jamison  who  seemed 
lost  in  astonishment  and  not  to  have  known 
what  he  was  doing,  I  should  have  gotten 
Arnold." 

The  militia  men  took  Andr^  to  Jamison, 
and  Jamison,  who  seems  never  to  have  been 
suspected  of  complicity  in  the  treason, 
although  that  is  the  only  rational  way  of  ac- 
counting for  his  conduct,  despatched  Andr^ 
with  a  guard  to  Arnold  himself,  sending  him 
a  letter  detailing  the  circumstances  of  the 
capture,  but  transmitting  the  compromising 
papers  to  Washington  who  was  upon  his  route 
from  New  England. 

Maj.  Talmadge  soon  afterwards  arrived  at 
Jamison's  quarters  and  having  convinced  his 
superior  ofxicer  of  his  stupidity,  started  in  pur- 
suit and  brought  Andr6  back,  but  strangely 
permitted  the  messenger  to  proceed  with 
the  letter.  The  result  was  that  Arnold 
effected  his    escape,  and   on   the   second   day 


GENERAL  KING'S  LETTER.  93 

after  Andre's  arrest  he  was  brought  to  the 
quarters  of  a  young  lieutenant  of  the  Second 
Regiment  of  Light  Dragoons,  under  Col.  Shel- 
don. Lieut.  King,  at  that  time  scarcely  of 
age,  appears  to  have  conducted  himself  with 
remarkable  discretion  and  to  have  shown  his 
good  breeding  as  a  gentleman.  He  after- 
wards became  a  general,  and  served  with 
honor  through  the  war. 

"  In  the  year  18 17,"  says  Mr.  Teller,  writing 
in  1877,  "  Gen.  King  was  written  to  by  a  friend 
who  desired  to  know  the  exact  facts  in  relation 
to  Maj.  Andre's  capture,  etc.  The  following 
letter  was  written  by  Gen.  King  in  reply,  and, 
although  previously  solicited  for  publication, 
is  now  for  the  first  time  given  to  the  public": 

RiDGEFIELD,  /z/«^  17,   1817. 

Dear  Sir: 

Yours  of  the  9th  is  before  me. 
The  facts,  so  far  as  I  am  acquainted  with 
them,  I  will  state  to  the  best  of  my  ability  or 
recollection.  Paulding,  Williams,  and  Van 
Wort  I  never  saw  before  or  since  that  event. 
I  know  nothing  about  them.  The  time  and 
the  place  where  they  stopped  Maj.  Andr^ 
seems  to  justify  the  character  you  have  drawn 
of  them.  The  truth  is,  to  the  imprudence  of 
the  man  and  not  the  patriotism  of  any  one  is 


94  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

to  be  ascribed  the  capture  of  Maj.  Andr^.  I 
was  the  first  and  only  officer  who  had  charge 
of  him  while  at  the  headquarters  of  the  Sec- 
ond Regiment  of  Light  Dragoons,  which  was 
then  at  Esq.  Gilbert's  in  South  Salem.  He 
was  brought  up  by  an  adjutant  and  four 
men  belonging  to  the  Connecticut  militia, 
under  the  command  of  Lieut.-Col.  Jamison, 
from  the  lines  near  Tarrytown,  a  character 
under  the  disguised  name  of  John  Anderson. 
He  looked  somewhat  like  a  reduced  gentle- 
man. His  small  clothes  were  nankin,  with 
long  white  top  boots,  in  part,  his  undress  mili- 
tary suit.  Plis  coat  purple,  with  gold  lace, 
worn  somewhat  threadbare,  with  a  small- 
brimmed,  tarnished  beaver  on  his  head.  He 
wore  his  hair  in  a  queue,  with  long,  black 
band,  and  his  clothes  somewhat  dirty.  In  this 
garb  I  took  charge  of  him.  After  breakfast 
my  barber  came  in  to  dress  me — after  which  I 
requested  him  to  undergo  the  same  operation, 
which  he  did. 

When  the  ribbon  was  taken  from  his  hair, 
I  observed  it  full  of  powder.  This  circum- 
stance, with  others  that  occurred,  induced  me 
to  believe  I  had  no  ordinary  person  in  charge. 

He  requested  permission  to  take  the  bed 
while  his  shirt  and  small  clothes  could  be 
washed.  I  told  him  that  was  needless,  for  a 
change  was  at  his  service,  which  he  accepted. 

We  were  close  pent-up  in  a  bed-room,  with  a 
guard    at   the  door  and   the    window.     There 


GENERAL   KING'S  LETTER.  95 

was  a  spacious  yard  before  the  door  which  he 
desired  he  might  be  permitted  to  walk  in  with 
me. 

I  accordingly  disposed  of  my  guard  in  such 
manner  as  to  prevent  an  escape.  While  walk- 
ing together,  he  observed,  he  must  make  a  con- 
fidant of  somebody,  and  he  knew  not  a  more 
proper  person  than  myself,  as  I  had  appeared 
to  befriend  a  stranger  in  distress.  After  set- 
tling the  point  between  ourselves,  he  told  me 
who  he  was,  and  gave  me  a  short  account  of 
himself  from  the  time  he  was  taken  at  St. 
Johns  in  1775  to  that  time.  He  requested 
pen  and  ink,  and  wrote  immediately  to  Gen. 
Washington,  declaring  who  he  was.  About 
midnight  the  express  returned  with  orders 
from  Gen.  Washington  to  Col.  Sheldon  to 
send  Maj.  Andr^  immediately  to  headquarters. 

I  started  with  him,  and  before  I  got  to 
North  Salem  meeting-house  met  another  ex- 
press with  a  letter  directed  to  the  officer 
who  had  Maj.  Andr^  in  charge,  and  which 
letter  directed  a  circuitous  route  to  head- 
quarters for  fear  of  recapture,  and  gave  an 
account  of  Arnold's  desertion,  etc.,  with  direc- 
tions to  forward  the  letter  to  Col.  Sheldon.  I 
did  so,  and  before  I  got  to  the  end  of  my 
journey  I  was  joined  by  Capt.  Hoodgers  first, 
and  after  by  Maj.  Talmadge  and  Capt.  Rogers. 
Having  given  you  this  clew,  I  proceed  with 
the  Major's  own  story.  He  said  he  came  up 
the  North  River  in  the  sloop  of  war   Vulture, 


96  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

for  the  purpose  of  seeing  a  person  by  flag  of 
truce.  That  was  not,  however,  accomplished. 
Of  course  he  had  to  come  ashore  in  a  skiff,  and 
after  he  had  done  his  business,  the  wind  was 
so  high,  the  Dutchman  who  took  him  ashore 
dared  not  venture  to  return  him  on  board. 
The  night  following,  the  militia  had  lined  the 
shore,  so  that  no  attempt  would  be  made  with 
safety.  Consequently,  he  was  furnished,  after 
changing  his  clothes,  with  a  Continental  horse 
and  Gen.  Arnold's  pass,  and  was  to  take  a 
route  by  Peekskill,  Crumpound,  Pinesbridge, 
Sing  Sing,  Tarrytown,  etc.,  to  New  York. 

Nothing  occurred  to  disturb  him  on  his  route 
until  he  arrived  at  the  last  place,  except  at 
Crumpound.  He  told  me  his  hair  stood  erect 
and  his  heart  was  in  his  mouth  on  meeting 
Col.  Samuel  B.  Webb  of  our  army  face  to  face. 
An  acquaintance  of  his  said  that  Col.  Stoddert 
knew  him,  and  he  thought  that  he  was  gone, 
but  they  kept  moving  along  and  soon  passed 
each  other.  He  then  thought  himself  past  all 
danger,  and  while  ruminating  on  his  good  luck 
and  hair-breadth  escapes  he  was  assailed  by 
three  bushmen  near  Tarrytown,  who  ordered 
him  to  stand.  He  said  to  them  :  "  I  hope, 
gentlemen,  you  belong  to  the  lower  party." 
"  We  do,"  says  one.  "  So  do  I,"  says  he,  "  and 
by  the  token  of  this  ring  and  key  you  will  let 
me  pass.  I  am  a  British  ofTficer  on  business  of 
importance,  and  must  not  be  detained."     One 


GENERAL   KING'S  LETTER.  97 

of  them  took   his  watch  from  him  and  then 
ordered  him  to  dismount. 

The  moment  that  was  done,  he  found  he 
was  mistaken  and  he  must  shift  his  tone.  He 
says,  •'  I  am  happy,  gentlemen,  to  find  I  am 
mistaken.  You  belong  to  the  upper  party 
and  so  do  I,  and  to  convince  you  of  it,  here  is 
Gen.  Arnold's  pass,"  handing  it  to  them. 
"Damn  Arnold's  pass,"  said  they.  "You 
said  you  were  a  British  officer,  where  is  your 
money  ?  "  "  Gentlemen,  I  have  none  about 
me,"  he  replied.  "  You  are  a  British  officer, 
with  a  gold  watch  and  no  money !  Let  us 
search  him."  They  did  so,  but  found  none. 
Says  one :  "  He  has  his  money  in  his  boots  ; 
let's  have  them  off  and  see."  They  took  off 
his  boots,  and  there  they  found  his  papers,  but 
no  money.  Then  they  examined  his  saddle, 
but  found  none.  He  said  he  saw  they  had 
such  a  thirst  for  money,  he  would  put  them  in 
the  way  to  get  it  if  they  would  be  directed  by 
him.  He  asked  them  to  name  their  sum  to 
deliver  him  at  Kingsbridge.  They  answered 
him  in  this  way:  "  If  we  deliver  you  at  Kings- 
bridge,  we  shall  be  sent  to  the  sugar-house, 
and  you  will  save  your  money."  He  says : 
"  If  you  will  not  trust  my  honor,  two  of  you 
may  stay  with  me  and  one  shall  go  with  the 
letter  I  will  write.  Name  your  sum.  The 
sum  was  agreed  upon,  but  I  cannot  recollect  if 
it  was  500  or  1000  guineas,  but  the  latter,  I 
think,  was  the  .sum.  They  held  a  consultation 
7 


98  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

a  considerable  time,  and  finally  they  told  him 
if  he  wrote,  a  party  would  be  sent  out  and 
take  them,  and  then  they  should  all  be  prison- 
ers. They  said  they  had  concluded  to  take 
him  to  the  commanding  officer  in  the  lines. 
They  did  so  and  retained  the  watch  until  Gen. 
Washington  sent  for  them  to  Tappan,  when 
the  watch  was  restored  to  Maj.  Andr6. 

Thus,  you  see,  had  money  been  at  command, 
after  the  imprudent  confession  of  Maj.  Andr6, 
or  any  security  given  that  the  British  would 
have  put  confidence  in,  he  might  have  passed 
on  to  Sir  Henry  Clinton's  headquarters  with 
all  his  papers  and  Arnold's  pass  into  the  bar- 
gain. I  do  not  recollect  to  have  seen  a  true 
statement  of  this  business  in  any  history  that 
has  fallen  into  my  hands. 


There  is  something  infinitely  touching  in 
the  relations  of  these  two  young  officers.  The 
heart  of  the  Lieutenant  was  warmed  with  pity 
and  sympathy  for  his  captive,  and  no  one  can 
doubt  from  this  recital  and  from  what  after- 
wards transpired,  that  if  honor  had  permitted 
he  would  gladly  have  set  him  free.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  British  officer,  fully  appreciat- 
ing this  sentiment  and  knowing  that  he  was  in 
the  keeping  of  a  gentleman,  gave  no  hint  of  a 
readiness  to   purchase  his  liberty,  as  he   had 


andr£  and  hale.  99 

openly  done  when  he  was  dealing  with  the 
"  bushmen." 

The  friendship  thus  begun  under  such  pain- 
ful circumstances  grew  stronger  every  day 
until  the  end  of  the  sad  story.  The  American 
Lieutenant  accompanied  the  British  Major  to 
headquarters,  passed  days  and  nights  with  him 
in  his  prison  chamber,  walked  with  him  to  the 
gallows,  and  stood  by  him  when  he  said  :  "  I 
am  reconciled  to  death,  but  not  to  the 
mode.  It  will  be  but  a  momentary  pang," 
and  then  deliberately  adjusted  the  rope  to  his 
neck  with  his  own  hands. 

Andre  was  a  spy  ;  Nathan  Hale  was  a  spy. 

It  requires  more  patriotism  to  be  a  spy  than 
to  serve  in  any  other  capacity  in  war. 

Let  England  cherish  the  memory  of  her 
hero  ;  let  us  cherish  the  memory  of  ours. 

Notwithstanding  the  verdict  of  history, 
which  agrees  with  the  declaration  of  Gen. 
King  that  **  to  the  imprudence  of  the  man, 
and  not  to  the  patriotism  of  any  one,  is  to  be 
ascribed  the  capture  of  Major  Andr6,"  the 
people  of  Tarrytown  rightly  determined  that 
the  spot  of  the  transaction  should  not  be  for- 
gotten. They  could  not  very  well  erect  a 
monument  to  chronicle  the  great  event  which 


IpO  WINTER   SKETCHES. 

saved  our  country  from  unspeakable  disaster, 
without  symbolizing  it  by  the  actors,  to  what- 
soever motive  at  heart  they  might  ascribe  their 
conduct. 

For  many  years  there  had  been  standing  by 
the  roadside  in  private  grounds  an  unpreten- 
tious  little  pyramid  with  a  commemorative  in- 
scription upon  it. 

This  was  replaced  in  1880  by  a  column  of 
larger  size,  surmounted  by  a  bronze  statue 
representing  one  of  the  bushmen,  musket  in 
hand,  in  an  attitude  like  that  of  the  picket 
guard  in  the  well-known  statuette  by  Rogers. 
It  is  artistic  in  all  respects  excepting  that  the 
fingers  of  the  hand  held  back  in  caution,  are 
so  very  long  that  no  one  can  fail  to  be  struck 
by  the  want  of  proportion  in  this  small  particu- 
lar which  detracts  from  the  merit  of  the  work 
as  a  whole.  If  Dr.  Coutant  would  climb  up 
by  means  of  a  ladder  and  amputate  a  few 
inches  from  each  of  those  preposterous  fingers, 
his  surgical  skill  would  commend  itself  as 
much  as  his  antiquarian  lore  to  our  grati- 
tude. 

The  topography  of  the  country  has  some- 
what changed   since   Irving  made  it  the  scene 


THE  LEGEND   OF  SLEEPY  HOLLOW.      \o\ 

of  "  The  Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow."     We  are 
told  that 

"  In  the  centre  of  the  road  stood  an  enormous 
tulip  tree,  which  towered  like  a  giant  above  all 
the  other  trees  of  the  neighborhood  and 
formed  a  kind  of  landmark.  Its  limbs  were 
gnarled  and  fantastic,  large  enough  to  form 
trunks  of  other  trees,  twisting  down  almost  to 
the  earth  and  rising  again  into  the  air.  It  was 
connected  with  the  tragical  story  of  the  unfort- 
unate Andre,  who  had  been  taken  prisoner 
hard  by,  and  was  universally  known  by  the 
name  of  Major  Andre's  tree.  .  .  .  About  2(X) 
yards  from  the  tree  a  small  brook  crossed  the 
road  and  ran  into  a  marshy  and  thickly 
wooded  glen  known  by  the  name  of  Wiley's 
swamp.  A  few  rough  logs,  laid  side  by  side 
served  for  a  bridge  over  this  stream.  On  that 
side  of  the  road  where  the  brook  entered  the 
wood,  a  group  of  oaks  and  chestnuts,  matted 
thick  with  wild  grape-vines,  threw  a  cavernous 
gloom  over  it.  To  pass  this  bridge  was  the 
severest  trial.  It  was  at  this  identical  spot 
that  the  unfortunate  Andre  was  captured,  and, 
under  the  covert  of  these  chestnuts  and  pines 
were  the  sturdy  yeomen  concealed  who  sur- 
prised him.  This  has  ever  since  been  consid- 
ered a  haunted  stream,  and  fearful  are  the  feel- 
ings of  the  schoolboy  who  has  to  pass  it  alone 
after  dark.  .  .  Just  at  this  moment  a  plashy 
tramp  by  the  side  of  the  bridge  caught  the  sen- 


102  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

sitive  ear  of  Ichabod.  In  the  dark  shadow  of 
the  grove,  on  the  margin  of  the  brook,  he  be- 
held something  huge,  misshapen,  black,  and 
towering." 

This  brook  no  longer  runs  across  the  road, 
but  as  the  grade  has  been  improved,  it  flows 
through  a  culvert  far  beneath  the  present 
level,  and  would  scarcely  be  noticed  by  the 
passing  traveller.  Here  it  was  that  old  Gun- 
powder took  the  bit  in  his  teeth  and  pursued 
his  mad  race  side  by  side  with  the  headless 
horseman.  They  reached  the  road  which 
turns  off  to  Sleepy  Hollow,  but  "  Gunpowder, 
who  seemed  possessed  with  a  demon,  instead 
of  keeping  up  it,  made  an  opposite  turn  and 
plunged  headlong  down  hill  to  the  left." 

The  tulip  tree  has  long  since  disappeared, 
the  thick  woods  have  been  cut  down,  and 
the  marsh  has  been  drained.  This  down- 
hill road  has  also  been  somewhat  diverted 
from  its  original  line,  but  people  who  follow  it 
generally  imagine  that  Sleepy  Hollow  is  at  its 
base,  and  that  the  bridge  crossing  Pocantico 
Creek  is  where  the  final  catastrophe  occurred. 
But  that  is  neither  Sleepy  Hollow  nor  the 
bridge.  The  house  of  Hans  Van  Ripper,  with 
whom  Ichabod  boarded,  was  in  Sleepy  Hollow, 


THE  OLD  LOG  SCHOOL-HOUSE.  I03 

higher  up,  on  what  is  now  the  Bedford 
road. 

There,  also,  was  the  old  log  school-house, 
since  replaced  by  a  building  of  more  modern 
architecture.  An  old  lady  of  the  neighborhood 
perfectly  remembers  the  original  structure, 
"  the  windows  partly  glazed  and  partly  patched 
with  leaves  of  old  copy-books."  Farmer  Van 
Tassel  must  have  lived  at  a  considerable  dis- 
tance south  of  Sleepy  Hollow,  as  the  peda- 
gogue had  found  it  necessary  to  borrow  a  horse 
for  the  occasion  of  the  party.  Old  Van  Ripper 
was  well  paid  for  the  loan,  for  he  made  himself 
and  Gunpowder  immortal  among  the  rest. 

Thus  we  can  trace  nearly  all  the  localities  of 
the  tale  and  yet  agree  with  the  cautious  Mr. 
Knickerbocker  in  his  comments  upon  it :  "  Still 
he  thought  the  story  a  little  on  the  extrava- 
gant ;  there  were  one  or  two  points  on  which  he 
had  his  doubts."  The  old  bridge,  now  taken 
away,  was  further  up  the  stream,  and  the  road 
has  been  somewhat  changed  accordingly. 
Therefore  the  headless  horseman  is  no  longer 
seen.  He  probably  rode  down  to  the  brink 
one  dark  night,  and,  unaware  of  the  removal, 
plunged  into  the  stream,  and  rider  and  horse 
were  drowned. 


I04  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

Fanny  trotted  as  quietly  over  the  new  bridge 
as  if  none  of  these  wonderful  events  had  tran- 
spired a  century  ago. 

A  few  rods  beyond  is  the  old  church — not 
whitewashed  now,  but  showing  the  gray  color 
of  the  rock  of  which  it  is  built.  There  are 
signs  of  some  outward  renovation,  which  do 
not  detract  materially  from  the  appearance  of 
age,  and  the  little  pepper-box  belfry  still  con- 
tains the  original  bell,  imported,  with  many  of 
the  inside  fixtures,  from  Holland.  On  a  tablet 
above  the  door  we  read,  "  Erected  by  Frederick 
Phillips  and  Catharine  Van  Cortlandt,  his  wife, 
1699."  It  stands  as  an  outpost  on  the  southern 
wall  of  a  great  city  of  the  dead,  where  its 
founders  with  successive  generations  of  their 
tenants  repose,  and  where  later  generations  lie 
side  by  side  with  them,  people  who  came  to 
possess  themselves  of  their  land  when  living, 
against  their  will  and  protest,  but  who  share  it 
with  them  now  in  peace.  The  little  bell  called 
the  first  settlers  together  to  worship  God  in  the 
ritual  and  language  of  their  mother  church. 
Afterward  the  old  Dutch  liturgy  was  abandoned 
for  more  modern  doctrines  expressed  in  English. 
At  last,  for  all  practical  purposes,  there  is  no 
more   service   of   any  kind,    excepting  during 


GRAVE   OF  IRVING.  1 05 

the  month  of  August,  when  the  Antiquarian 
Society,  whose  property  the  building  has  be- 
come, open  it  for  preaching,  rather  for  purposes 
of  curiosity  than  for  devotion. 

In  this  cemetery  is  the  grave  of  Irving. 
When  I  visited  it  a  few  years  ago  and  stood 
by  the  simple  white  slab  on  which  is  inscribed 
his  name  and  the  date  of  his  birth  and  death, 
and  saw  that  it  was  evidently  new,  I  asked  the 
keeper  if  it  could  be  possible  that  all  this  time 
should  have  gone  by  with  nothing  to  designate 
the  spot.  "  Oh,  no,  indeed  ;  "  he  replied,  "  a 
stone  was  put  up  almost  immediately,  but  the 
curiosity-hunters  chipped  it  to  pieces,  and  this 
has  taken  its  place.  They  will  probably  serve 
it  in  the  same  way  and  then  there  will  be 
another." 

And  yet  let  us  not  too  hastily  accuse  them 
of  desecrating  his  grave.  The  stone  was  not 
broken  down  and  strewed  around  with  mali- 
cious intent.  Each  little  bit  may  have  been 
carried  away  with  thoughtlessness,  but  with 
pious  motive,  and  wherever  it  is,  it  may  be 
cherished  as  a  token  sacred  to  his  memory. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Along  the  Tappaan  Zee. —  The  Pathfinder  s  Home. 
—  The  Old  Van  Cortlandt  Manor-House. — 
Up  the  Croton. —  Tivo  Views  of  the  New 
Dam.  — Revolutionary  Memories. — Canaan- 
ites  of  the  Seventeenth  Century. 

The  old  Albany  Turnpike,  as  it  is  still  some- 
times called  beyond  Tarrytown,  where  I  do 
not  remember  having  seen  any  more  sign- 
boards indicating  that  it  is  Broadway,  is  true 
to  its  name  for  the  intervening  six  miles  be- 
fore we  reach  Sing  Sing,  the  country  residence 
of  New  York  ex-Aldermen  and  ex-financiers 
in  general.  They  are  there,  solving  the  prob- 
lem of  capital  and  labor  by  equalization  with 
the  horny-handed  sons  of  toil  who  erstwhile 
worked  with  revolvers,  bowie-knives,  and  bur- 
glars' tools. 

The  road  is  all  "  up  hill  and  down  dale," 
passing  over  eminences  that  command  some 
of  the  finest  views  of  the  Hudson  where  it 
1 06 


"  THE   PA  THFINDEK. "  10/ 

spreads  itself  out  into  the  wide  Tappaan  Zee, 
forming  a  picturesque  lake  at  the  base  of 
the  opposite  mountains.  Notwithstanding  the 
eligibility  of  the  many  commanding  sites, 
fine  mansions  do  not  abound.  It  is  somewhat 
too  far  from  the  great  business  mart  for  men 
to  go  to  town  every  morning  and  return  every 
afternoon.  If  the  river  be  followed  still 
further  to  the  Highlands,  where  the  scenery  is 
most  impressive,  or  to  Poughkeepsie  and 
even  beyond,  where  it  is  still  beautiful  if  not 
so  wild,  it  will  be  found  bordered  at  greater 
intervals  either  by  mansions  of  retired  gentry 
who  go  to  spend  the  last  years  of  their  lives 
in  the  country,  or  by  villas  for  merely  summer 
occupation. 

On  this  bit  of  turnpike  stands  a  fine  house 
once  owned  and  occupied  by  a  man  now  re- 
tired from  public  notice,  but  who  in  his  day 
was  one  of  the  foremost  characters  of  the 
country.  "  The  Pathfinder  "  he  was  called  in 
his  youth,  when,  full  of  enthusiasm  and  love 
for  adventure,  he  traversed  the  prairie  deserts, 
discovered  the  Great  Salt  Lake  beyond  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  and  led  his  band  of  avant 
couriers  over  the  Sierras  Nevadas  down  the 
slope  to  the   Pacific  shore.     He  was  the  first 


I08  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

to  unfurl  the  national  flag  in  California,  and  to 
aid  in  founding  a  new  empire  in  the  West. 

There  he  gained  wealth  and  the  honor 
which  made  him  the  Free-soil  candidate  for 
the  Presidency.  In  the  war  of  the  Rebel- 
lion he  was  the  pioneer  of  freedom,  the  first  to 
declare,  before  he  was  justified  by  the  progress 
of  events,  that  the  war  was  a  struggle  for  the 
liberty  of  the  slave.  Here  on  the  Hudson,  in 
a  paradise  of  forest  and  shrubbery,  he  estab- 
lished his  home.  Here  he  and  "  our  Jessie," 
as  the  people  delighted  to  call  her,  a  woman 
whose  attractions  and  commanding  presence 
entitled  her  to  the  leadership  of  society  in 
Washington,  made  their  happy  and  luxurious 
dwelling-place,  dispensing  elegant  hospitality, 
and  surrounding  themselves  with  the  best  and 
the  most  cultured  of  the  land.  Then  misfort- 
une came  upon  them.  The  great  Mariposa 
grant  of  thousands  of  acres,  exceeding  duke- 
doms of  the  Old  World,  was  wrenched  from 
their  hands,  their  lovely  home  was  sacrificed 
and  became  the  property  of  others,  and  they 
were  almost  thrown  upon  the  charities  of  the 
world. 

But  are  republics  ungrateful  ?  O,  no,  Fre- 
mont was  rewarded  in  his  old  age   for  all  that 


VAJV  CORTLANDT  MANOR-HOUSE.         IO9 

he  had  done  for  the  nation.  They  made  him 
Governor  of  Arizona,  with  a  salary  large  enough 
for  a  small  politician,  and  they  went  to  live  and 
to  be  buried  alive  in  those  hot  and  desert 
lands.  Strange  contrast  this  from  their 
shaded  lawns  on  the  Hudson!  They  soon 
came  back  to  the  East,  and  are  now — who 
knows  where  ? — ending  their  days  in  obscurity 
and  neglect.  Thus  passes  the  glory  of  the 
world.  New  heroes  have  come  upon  the  stage 
and  gone,  and  the  Pathfinder,  too,  is  dead,  al- 
though he  still  lives. 

Soon  after  passing  through  the  village  of 
Sing  Sing,  the  post-road  makes  a  sudden  turn 
to  the  left,  and  spans  the  Croton  River  with  a 
substantial  bridge  near  its  mouth.  On  the  op- 
posite bank  stands  the  time-honored  Van  Cort- 
landt  manor  house,  one  of  the  most  interest- 
ing relics  of  ancient  days. 

It  was  built  by  Stephanus  Van  Cortlandt, 
the  first  "lord  of  the  manor,"  in  1681,  the 
date  as  chronicled  on  the  door-post  at  the 
entrance.  It  was  evidently  intended  origi- 
nally rather  for  a  fortress  than  for  a  dwelling- 
house,  the  loopholes  for  musketry  used  against 
the  Indians  which  indicate  this,  being  still  in 
such   condition  for  defence  that  I  have  some- 


1 1 0  WINTER  SKE  TCHES. 

times  wondered  that  the  present  lady  of  the 
manor  does  not  bring  them  into  use  to  ward 
off  the  many  strangers  whose  curiosity  attracts 
them  to  the  spot.  But  that  is  not  the  dispo- 
sition of  the  amiable  and  courtly  hostess  who 
has  so  often  entertained  me  and  others  at  her 
hospitable  board.  Proud  she  is,  and  well  may 
be,  of  the  history  of  her  late  husband's  ances- 
try, of  the  portraits  of  the  Van  Cortlandts, 
from  the  first  Stephanus  down  to  the  present, 
of  their  trophies  and  memorials,  of  the  origi- 
nal charter  from  the  crown,  of  wonderful 
curios  of  plate  and  crockery,  of  the  old  home 
itself,  solidly  built  of  bricks  said  to  have  been 
brought  from  Holland,  of  its  wainscoted 
walls,  huge  fireplaces,  venerable  chairs,  and 
the  dark  mahogany  table,  around  which  an- 
cient Dutchmen  first  made  merry,  and  the 
great  generals  of  the  Revolution  afterwards 
did  justice  to  its  cheer  when  Col.  Philip  Van 
Cortlandt  was  the  master  of  the  house. 

He  himself  was  one  of  the  bravest  of  the 
brave,  a  man  without  fear  and  without  re- 
proach. His  own  incorruptibility  led  him  to 
suspect  Benedict  Arnold  long  before  his  trea- 
son, and  in  his  journal  he  alludes  in  terms  by 
no  means  complimentary  to  him  as  appropriat- 


THE    VAN  CORTLANDTS.  \\\ 

ing  the  property  of  the  Government  to  his 
own  use.  Familiar  is  the  story  of  the  attempt 
to  bribe  Ethan  Allen,  and  of  his  reply  to  the 
offer  of  a  large  tract  of  land  from  the  King. 
"  It  reminds  me  of  the  promise  of  the  devil, 
on  one  occasion,  to  give  away  all  the  kingdoms 

of  the  earth,   when   the   d d  rascal  didn't 

own  a  foot  of  the  ground."  So,  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  war,  according  to  the  family  chron- 
icle, Gov.  Tryon  came  up  to  Croton,  and,  in- 
ducing Van  Cortlandt  to  walk  with  him  to  the 
top  of  the  highest  hill  on  his  estate,  promised 
him  all  the  land  in  sight,  and  a  title  besides, 
if  he  would  adhere  to  the  royal  cause.  Tryon 
received,  if  possible,  a  more  indignant  reply, 
and  hastily  embarked  upon  his  sloop  to  return 
to  New  York. 

The  old  burgomaster,  Oloff  Stephense,  the 
head  of  the  family,  has  had  no  occasion  to  be 
ashamed  of  any  of  his  posterity.  He  was  the 
original  settler,  having  landed  in  New  Amster- 
dam in  1638.  A  thrifty  old  Dutchman  he  was, 
who  instantly  began  to  acquire  property. 
But  Stephanus,  his  first-born  on  this  conti- 
nent, was  still  more  adventurous.  He  bought 
immense  tracts  of  land  from  the  Indians,  and 
the    colony    soon    afterwards  coming    under 


1 1 2  WINTER  SKE  TCHES. 

British  rule,  he  consolidated  all  his  territory 
and  obtained  the  royal  charter,  still  carefully 
preserved,  which  created  him  the  first  lord 
of  the  manor.  The  area  of  his  possessions 
extended  from  the  Croton  River  twenty  miles 
north,  and  from  the  Hudson  east  to  the  Con- 
necticut line. 

Mr.  Henry  George  would  have  looked  upon 
the  ownership  of  so  much  land  by  one  man  as 
a  heinous  offence.  According  to  his  theory, 
the  Indians,  who  had  previously  held  it  in 
common,  must  have  been  a  happy  and  pros- 
perous set  of  men.  Nor  would  he  have  stopped 
to  consider  what  was  sure  to  be  the  distribu- 
tion of  it.  Children  were  born,  and  children's 
children's  inheritances  divided  and  dismem- 
bered it,  until  to-day  the  possessor  of  the 
manor-house  holds  but  2000  acres,  all  the  rest 
having  gone  into  the  hands  of  strangers.  For 
one  or  two  generations  real  and  personal  prop- 
erty may  remain  in  a  family,  and  then  all  is 
scattered,  perhaps  to  be  heaped  up  again  by 
some  one  at  the  bottom  who  exchanges  places 
with  those  who  were  at  the  top.  Our  philos- 
opher would  have  it  all  equalized  at  once  and 
kept  forever  on  an  equality.  This  scheme 
will  be  successful  when  the  tides  cease  to  ebb 


DISTINGUISHED  GUESTS. 


113 


and  flow,  and  when  Nature,  convinced  of  her 
error,  throws  down  the  Rocky  Mountains  and 
the  Sierras  to  convert  the  ground  into  building 
lots  and  farms. 

Mrs.  Van  Cortlandt,  who  is  withal  a  lady  of 
rare  literary  ability,  is  at  present  compiling  a 
work  which  will  be  of  great  interest  not  only 
to  the  various  branches  of  the  family,  but  to 
the  public  in  connection  with  their  history. 
The  participation  of  Westchester  County  in 
the  events  of  the  Revolutionary  war  will  find 
a  prominent  place.  On  one  of  the  proof-sheets 
we  were  permitted  to  see,  we  read  an  extract 
from  a  letter  written  by  Pierre  van  Cortlandt, 
November  13,  1775,  to  his  son,  the  Colonel: 
"  Thursday  night  were  here  to  supper  and 
breakfast  of  Col.  Hammond's  regiment  about 
three  hundred  men.  They  said  they  drank  two 
hogsheads  of  cider."  And  doubtless  there  was  a 
store  of  Madeira  in  the  cellar  for  more  distin- 
guished guests.  It  is  added,  "  Franklin  tarried 
here  on  his  way  back  from  Canada  in  1776. 
fiere,  too,  came  Lafayette,  Rochambeau,  and 
the  Duke  de  Lauzun."  Washington  was  here 
many  times  while  the  army  lay  on  the  shores 
of  the  Hudson  and  along  the  heights  of  the 
Croton.  In  more  peaceful  days  the  great 
8 


114  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

Whitefield  had  preached,  standing  on  the  broad 
veranda,  to  spell-bound  crowds  on  the  lawn, 
who  had  been  summoned  from  miles  around 
by  horsemen  sent  out  by  Van  Cortlandt. 

All  this  pageant  passed  before  me  in  a 
vision  of  the  past,  and  then  it  was  speedily 
dispelled  as  the  shrill  v/histle  of  a  passing 
locomotive  echoed  over  the  now  quiet  lone- 
liness of  the  scene.  Then,  bidding  adieu  to 
the  lady  of  the  manor,  I  descended  the  steps 
over  which  the  spurs  of  Revolutionary  heroes 
had  clanked  more  than  a  century  ago,  and 
mounted  my  horse  from  the  block  where  they 
were  accustomed  to  take  their  "stirrup-cup" 
to  the  health  of  their  entertainers. 

Turning  off  from  the  Hudson  at  this  point, 
we  now  began  to  follow  the  Croton  towards 
its  source.  The  little  river  was  "  dark  as  win- 
ter in  its  flow,"  for  the  boulders  covered  with 
snow  and  with  shining  icy  jewels  made  the 
water  black  by  their  contrast,  and  the  recent 
freshet,  which  had  not  subsided,  was  playing 
wild  music  along  the  foamy  channel.  For 
miles,  until  we  reached  the  lake  beyond  the 
present  reservoir,  the  stream  sparkled  and 
danced    in    the   sunlight   of  its   winter  glory. 


CROTON  RESERVOIR.  I  I  5 

But  the  end  must  come  to  everything,  and 
although 

"  Rivers  to  the  ocean  run, 
Nor  stay  in  all  their  course," 

the  Croton  will  be  one  of  the  exceptions.  Its 
happy  days  will  soon  pass  away,  and  it  will 
settle  down  to  dull  repose  as  a  motionless  lake. 
"  A  stagnant  pond  it  will  be,"  said  Mr.  Orlando 
Potter,  whom  I  met  in  my  travels. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Potter,"  I  said,  "  you  have 
fought  till  the  end  against  the  scheme,  but  its 
advocates  have  triumphed  over  you."  "Yes," 
he  replied,  "  but  they  have  to  contend  against 
the  Almighty  now.  First,  they  have  to  sink 
for  a  foundation  no  feet  to  a  porous  bed-rock 
that  may  let  all  the  water  out  as  fast  as  it 
runs  in,  and  then  the  dam  is  to  be  177  feet 
above  the  ground  level,  the  water  to  flow  back 
more  than  eight  miles,  and  to  spread  itself 
from  one  to  two  miles  up  into  the  valleys. 
What  a  reservoir  that  will  be  for  a  little  river 
like  this  to  fill !  What  with  the  leakage  and 
the  evaporation,  it  cannot  be  kept  full  in  hot 
weather.  There  will  then  be  a  slimy  border 
of  decomposed  vegetation,  breeding  malaria 
around  the  country,  and  the  putrid  water  will 


Il6  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

also  breed  pestilence  in  the  city.  If  the  job  is 
ever  completed,  $20,000,000  will  not  cover  the 
cost.  But  that  is  the  least  consideration  in 
this  terrible  blunder." 

Such  was  the  opinion,  and  I  doubt  not  the 
sincere  opinion,  of  the  defeated  general  of  the 
pessimists.  On  the  other  hand,  a  triumphant 
optimist  who,  by  the  bye,  would  get  rid  of  a 
large  tract  of  land,  worth  from  $50  to  $100 
per  acre  for  farming  purposes,  at  a  valuation  of 
$300,  pitched  his  jubilate  in  the  highest  key. 
"  What  a  grand  idea  it  was  !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  Now  the  city  can  spread  itself  indefinitely. 
Ten  million  people  will  have  all  the  water  they 
want,  and  then  what  a  thing  of  beauty,  what  a 
joy  forever,  this  lovely  sheet  of  water  will  be ! 
Ten  miles  long,  indenting  the  shore  with 
charming  little  bays  where  the  tall  shadows  of 
the  hills  and  trees  will  reflect  themselves  as  in 
the  mirror  lake  of  the  Yosemite ;  boulevards 
all  around  this  great  expanse,  country  seats 
with  lawns  sloping  to  the  banks  and — " 

"But,"  I  asked,  interrupting  him,  "  how 
about  the  drainage  from  these  houses?" 
"  Oh,"  he  replied,  "  that  is  the  easiest  thing  in 
the  world  to  arrange.  Great  mains  with  pipes 
to   cross   the   brooks   can    be   laid    along   the 


A.VDRP/S  ROUTE.  l\y 

shores,  and  not  a  particle  of  pollution  can  enter 
the  lake,  as  it  will  all  be  carried  down  below 
the  dam." 

Such  are  the  differences  of  opinion  which 
may  be  decided  at  some  future  day  when  the 
younger  readers  of  these  pages  are  gray- 
headed. 

Turning  from  the  river  at  Pine's  Bridge,  a 
locality  made  famous  by  the  passage  of  Andr6, 
we  follow  the  road  to  Bedford.  It  is  certain 
that  Andr^  crossed  this  bridge.  Nothing  else 
pertaining  to  his  exciting  ride  is  more  sure. 
That  he  landed  at  Verplanck's  Point,  and  was 
afterwards  captured  at  Tarrytown,  is  not  more 
so,  but  he  appears  to  have  had  so  little  topo- 
graphical knowledge,  and  was  naturally  so 
confused,  that,  in  his  narrative  to  Lieut.  King, 
he  could  not  give  an  exact  account  of  his  jour- 
ney. Historians  have  since  duly  lined  it  out 
and  have  given  him  a  great  many  parallel  roads 
to  travel  upon.  If  you  ask  any  old  farmer  in 
Verplanck's,  Peekskill,  Shrub  Oak,  or  York- 
town,  about  it,  he  will  say  that  he  has  "hear'n 
tell  that  Andree  passed  directly  by  his  house." 
It  is  at  all  events  undeniable  that  he  could  not 
have  reached  Tarrytown  without  crossing  this 
bridge  unless  he  forded  the  river. 


Il8  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

The  people  hereabouts  are  "  champion 
liars"  as  to  the  events  of  the  Revolution. 
This  propensity  of  theirs  has  been  serviceable 
in  giving  Fenimore  Cooper  many  hints,  which 
he  has  judiciously  woven  into  a  thread  of 
fiction,  more  resembling  truth  than  the  alleged 
truths  themselves.  It  was  from  a  citizen  of 
Bedford  that  he  heard  of  one  Enoch  Crosby, 
who  had  the  reputation  of  having  been  an 
American  spy.  Crosby  grew  into  Harvey 
Birch,  and  Harvey  Birch  became  a  reality. 

War  began  at  an  early  day  on  the  borders 
of  New  York  and  Connecticut,  long  before 
the  Revolutionary  struggle  in  which  the  bat- 
tles of  White  Plains  and  Ridgefield  were 
fought.  The  Dutch  and  the  English  enter- 
tained the  same  views  of  the  Indian  question 
that  are  prevalent  among  their  descendants. 
The  latter  gave  for  the  land  all  along  Long 
Island  Sound,  extending  sixteen  miles  inland, 
twelve  coats,  twelve  hoes,  twelve  hatchets, 
twelve  glasses,  twelve  knives,  two  kettles,  and 
five  fathoms  of  wampum.  There  was  a  treaty 
"  reserving  the  liberty  of  hunting  and  fishing 
for  the  Indians." 

But  our  ancestors  came  to  loggerheads  with 
the  Indians  on  the  "  fishery  question,"  as  we 


INDIAN  MASSACRE.  I  I9 

are  now  embroiled  with  the  Canadians.  Th?y, 
too,  passed  measures  of  retaliation,  not  paper 
measures,  like  those  of  Congress,  but  measures 
of  powder  and  ball,  such  as  our  down-East 
smack  owners  would  like  to  have  the  nation 
pass  on  their  account  against  Canada.  The  re- 
sult of  the  fight  in  1644  was  very  satisfactory. 
One  hundred  and  thirty  troops,  most  of  them 
Dutch,  under  Capt.  John  Underhill,  exter- 
minated 700  "  savages,"  first  setting  their  vil- 
lage on  fire  and  then  driving  men,  women,  and 
children  back  into  the  flames.  It  is  mentioned 
by  the  historian  as  a  proof  of  the  incorrigible 
obstinacy  of  these  people  that  they  perished 
without  uttering  a  single  cry.  But,  like  the 
Israelites  of  old,  the  Dutch  considered  that 
God  was  present  on  the  occasion  to  help  them, 
for  "  the  Lord  collected  most  of  our  enemies 
there  to  celebrate  some  peculiar  festival." 

There  is  now  a  Quaker  meeting-house  hard 
by  the  spot  of  that  inhuman  massacre.  This 
peaceful  sect  came  here  too  late  for  the  poor 
Indians.  There  was  no  William  Penn  among 
those  cruel  Dutch  to  stay  their  hand,  and  to 
inculcate  the  policy  of  peace  by  which  he  ob- 
tained his  conquests,  and  which  gave  to  Penn- 
sylvania  the    true    title-deeds    for   her   lands, 


I20  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

while  those  of  New  York  and  New    England 
were  written  in  blood. 

The  Indians  having  been  exterminated,  the 
white  men  who  became  possessors  of  the  soil 
occupied  it  by  right  of  might,  as  the  Jews  oc- 
cupied Canaan  after  the  destruction  of  the 
Amorites,  the  Hittites,  the  Jebusites,  and 
other  similar  savages  who  had  been  smitten  by 
"  the  sword  of  the  Lord  and  of  Gideon." 
Then  their  own  turn  likewise  came  to  be  mas- 
sacred or  carried  into  captivity — and  they 
thought  it  hard.  So  the  people  of  Bedford 
failed  to  appreciate  the  retribution  which,  we 
are  told  by  the  highest  authority,  descends 
upon  later  generations  for  the  sins  of  their 
fathers,  when,  in  1779,  Tarleton  swooped  down 
upon  them  and  burned  their  town.  The 
neighborhood  was  the  scene  of  many  skir- 
mishes during  the  Revolutionary  war,  and  in 
most  of  them  the  patriots,  though  far  exceed- 
ing the  British  in  numbers,  were  defeated,  not 
so  much  because  of  their  cowardice  as  for  want 
of  arms  and  discipline.  But  what  Bedford 
lacked  in  military  skill  it  compensated  the 
country  for  in  giving  birth  to  the  greatest  dip- 
lomat of   the  time.     In    that    capacity   John 


A  FRIENDLY  WELCOME.  I2l 

Jay  was    of  more  account  than   regiments    of 
soldiers  or  parks  of  artillery. 

Night  was  closing  in  upon  us  again.  Fanny 
and  I  on  a  roundabout  road  had  already  ac- 
complished thirty  miles.  Ten  miles  beyond, 
over  the  Connecticut  line,  lay  the  village  of 
Ridgefield  to  which  we  hastened  on.  Again 
from  another  domestic  hearth  the  cheerful 
wood  fire  gleamed,  and  again  I  was  welcomed 
to  the  house  of  my  old  schoolmate  and  friend. 

"  I  praise  the  Frenchman,  his  remark  was  shrewd, 
How  sweet,  how  passing  sweet,  is  solitude; 
Yet  grant  me  still  a  friend  in  my  retreat 
Whom  I  may  whisper,  solitude  is  sweet. 

"  Hast  thou  a  friend  ?     Thou  hast  indeed 
A  rich  and  large  supply  ; 
Treasure  to  serve  your  every  need, 
Well  managed,  till  you  die." 

Yes,  it  is  very  pleasant  to  have  "  a  rich  and 
large  supply"  of  friends  along  the  road. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Neiv  York  as  a  Siunmer  Residence.  —  The 
Country  in  Winter. —  The  Old  Boston  Post- 
Road. — On  the  Way  again  to  Ridgefield. 

The  thermometer  is  not  always  an  indicator 
of  temperature.  That  depends  quite  as  much 
upon  the  quantity  of  moisture  in  the  atmos- 
phere as  upon  conditions  that  are  frequently 
only  apparent.  In  the  high  altitudes  of  the 
West  we  are  less  uncomfortable  in  our  shirt- 
sleeves with  the  mercury  at  zero  than  we  find 
ourselves  in  New  York  when  wrapped  in  flan- 
nels and  ulsters,  the  glass  showing  thirty  de- 
grees. 

Another  atmospheric  peculiarity  we  cannot 
fail  to  notice.  Directly  upon  the  seashore  the 
climate,  whether  the  thermometer  corresponds 
or  not,   is   milder  than    it    is  ten   or   a   dozen 

122 


CHANGE  OF  AIR.  1 23 

miles  inland.  Thus,  as  Brighton  and  Hastings 
afford  relief  from  the  bitter  winter  winds  of 
London,  so  Atlantic  City  and  Long  Branch 
have  become  refuges  from  New  York,  and  the 
value  of  Coney  Island  in  this  respect  will  ere 
long  be  appreciated. 

Undoubtedly  people  become  acclimated  to 
New  York,  and  find  its  temperature,  as'  well 
as  everything  else  that  really  makes  it  attrac- 
tive, the  best  in  the  world.  But  these  are 
they  who  never  go  away  from  their  home,  and 
who  consequently  never  experience  any  incon- 
venience in  returning  to  it.  Perhaps,  after 
all,  they  are  more  contented  than  vagrants 
who  wander  all  over  the  world  in  search  of 
happiness  because  they  fancy  that  on  Man- 
hattan, where  it  could  easiest  be  attained,  the 
air  does  not  agree  with  them.  Nevertheless,  it 
must  be  admitted  that  there  is  at  least  "  a 
change  of  air"  experienced  by  going  either  to 
the  seashore  or  to  the  country  in  winter  as  well 
as  in  summer.  Indeed,  if  I  were  compelled  to 
divide  the  time  by  seasons  between  city  and 
country,  I  would  unhesitatingly  give  the 
summer  to  the  former  and  the  winter  to  the 
latter. 


124  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

I  would  like  to  be  a  millionaire  so  that  1 
could  buy  up  and  pull  down  the  old  rookeries 
which  were  once  the  chosen  abodes  of  New 
York  merchants,  on  State  Street,  but  are  now 
converted  into  immigrant  boarding-houses  and 
tenements,  and  build  dwelling  houses  in  their 
stead.  I  fancy  that  it  would  be  a  good 
inves'tment.  What  more  can  a  quietly  dis- 
posed family  desire  than  a  house  comfort- 
able at  all  seasons,  one  which  in  the  summer 
looks  out  on  the  green  lawns  and  trees  about 
Castle  Garden,  where  the  sultry  winds  of  July 
and  August  are  tempered  and  refrigerated  by 
their  passage  over  the  salt  waters  of  the  bay 
and  the  rivers?  There,  perhaps,  at  no  very 
distant  day,  residents  of  the  New  York  that  is 
to  be  above  the  Harlem  will  find  their  summer 
homes,  when  Trinity  Church  shall  stand  alone 
in  its  rural  cemetery  and  the  fragments  of 
Wall  Street  may  come  into  use  for  fencing  the 
lawns  sloping  to  the  river  banks  and  the 
market-gardens  along  the  sides  of  Broadway. 
There  will  then  be  no  question  of  getting  out 
of  New  York.  New  York  will  get  out  of  itself. 
The  Harlem  River  will  be  its  southern  boun- 
dary, and  it  will  stretch  away  to  the  north, 
with  the  new  Croton  Lake,  ten  miles  long  and 


A   WINTER  MORNING.  12$ 

three  miles  wide,  for  its  centre,  and  its  upper 
limit  will  be  somewhere  near  where  I  am  now 
writing,  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Mohegan. 

I  look  upon  it  this  lovely  February  morning 
from  my  window,  its  surface  covered  with  a 
sparkling  field  of  new-fallen  snow,  the  pines 
and  firs  surrounding  it  bending  under  the  white 
plumage  so  beautifully  contrasting  with  their 
green,  the  oaks  and  maples  with  frosted  barks 
and  silver  icicles  glittering  in  the  sunlight. 
This  is  winter,  glorious  winter.  It  quickens 
the  pulse  of  age  and  brings  back  the  memories 
of  youth,  the  jingling  bells,  the  rosy  cheeks,  the 
ringing  laughter  of  the  sleigh-ride  of  the  olden 
time,  the  music  of  the  gliding  skates — all  the 
wholesome,  life-giving  exercise  in  its  pure, 
bracing  air ;  and  still  to  me  it  is  more  joyous 
than  the  gentle  zephyrs  and  balmy  airs,  green 
landscapes  and  tropical  verdure  of  the  South, 
that  boasts  of  its  sunny  clime,  but  where 
never  sun  shone  with  a  splendor  like  this  of 
to-day. 

The  story  of  "The  Pioneers"  opens  with 
a  charming  winter  scene,  depicted  with  the 
graphic  pencil  of  nature  that  Cooper  always 
held  in  his  hand.  The  keen  atmosphere  makes 
our  blood  tingle,  and  we  luxuriate  before  the 


126  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

blazing  logs  in  imagination  as  if  we  had  partic- 
ipated in  their  warmth.  The  winds  are  as  cold 
now  on  the  banks  of  the  Otsego,  but  the  music 
of  the  bells  is  not  so  merry,  for  fashion  has 
decreed  a  noiseless  gliding  over  the  snow,  and 
the  cheerful  fireside  has  given  place  to  abom- 
inable stoves,  furnaces,  and  steam-heaters. 

In  the  early  days  of  our  history,  winter 
sports  were  more  appreciated  because  there 
was  so  little  sport  of  any  kind.  The  business 
of  life  was  serious.  The  minds  of  our  fathers 
were  occupied  mainly  with  the  questions  how 
should  they  get  a  living  in  this  life  by  works, 
and  how  by  faith  they  should  make  sure  of  a 
life  to  come.  Since  their  day,  the  struggle  for 
existence  has  become  less  arduous.  Wealth, 
bringing  luxury,  has  poured  in  upon  their  de- 
scendants ;  the  rough  edges  of  religion  have 
been  smoothed  off;  and  shocking  as  the  idea 
would  have  been  to  their  ancestors,  men  have 
determined  to  get  out  of  it  all  the  enjoyment 
which  the  world  can  afford.  Some  of  the 
morning  newspapers  find  space  for  reports  of 
sermons  on  Monday,  but  on  every  other  day 
of  the  week  their  columns  are  filled  with  the 
particulars  of  horse  and  yacht  races,  base-ball 
and  foot-ball  games.    These,  for  the  most  part, 


WINTER  SPORTS.  127 

are  summer  sports,  but  now  is  the  season  for 
**  carnivals,"  ice-boating,  skating,  sleigh-riding, 
and  tobogganing,  the  most  healthy  and  invig- 
orating of  them  all.  Perhaps,  by  and  by,  as 
autumn  excursions  on  horseback  have  lately 
become  popular,  the  same  delightful  exercise 
may  be  taken  in  winter,  the  season  of  all 
seasons  which  I  have  found  from  oft-repeated 
experience  to  be  for  it  the  most  enjoyable. 

It  is  now  1888.  We  parted  company  a  year 
ago  at  Ridgefield,  Conn.,  and  if  you  please  we 
will  start  again  from  there.  Fanny  and  I  have 
since  that  time  borne  each  other's  burdens. 
She  has  carried  me  often  over  many  roads,  and 
I  have  paid  her  stable  bills.  Her  appearance 
still  denotes  content,  and  she  never  gives  me 
any  cause  of  complaint,  excepting  that  on  the 
approach  of  a  railroad  engine  she  manifests 
fear,  and  turns  about,  trotting  away  from  it 
till  its  noise  subsides. 

It  is  a  female  characteristic  to  be  afraid  of 
something.  A  steam  engine  is  as  objectionable 
to  a  mare  as  a  cow  or  a  mouse  is  to  a  woman. 
We  should  make  due  allowance  for  this  imper- 
fection in  the  house  or  in  the  stable.  If 
Fanny  could  speak,  she  would  doubtless  find 
some  weak  point  in  my  character.     I  am  glad 


1 2  8  WINTER  SKE  TCHES. 

that  she  cannot.  We  do  not  like  to  be  told  of 
our  faults. 

As  I  am  unable  to  persuade  any  human 
friend  to  accompany  me  on  my  long  rides, 
our  companionship  becomes  closer.  Fanny 
knows  the  pocket  in  which  I  keep  the  lumps 
of  sugar.  When  she  gets  one  of  these  little 
dainties,  she  acknowledges  it  by  a  cordial 
shake  of  hoof  and  hand.  She  knows  perfectly 
well  whether  we  are  about  to  take  a  long  or  a 
short  journey,  for  in  the  first  case  I  always 
show  her  the  small  roll  of  baggage  before  it  is 
buckled  upon  the  saddle.  So  she  adapts  her 
gait  to  the  requirements  of  the  trip.  We  talk 
together  along  the  road — that  is  to  say,  I  talk 
to  her  and  she  listens.  Many  people  think 
this  is  the  best  way  to  carry  on  a  conversation. 
It  is  not  uncommon,  and  it  always  affords 
pleasure  to  one  person  at  least.  By  this 
means  the  rider  may  place  himself  en  rapport 
with  his  horse.  There  is  no  exact  English  for 
this  French  term.  It  means  a  great  deal — not 
precisely  that  a  man  is  any  part  of  a  horse,  or 
that  a  horse  is  any  part  of  a  man,  but  that  the 
man  for  the  time  being  is  equine,  and  the 
horse  is  human  in  his  feelings. 

To  the  saying  of  Terence  that  because  he 


SOUND  BELIEF.  1 29 

was  a  man  nothing  human  could  be  foreign  to 
him,  I  would  add  that  for  the  same  reason 
nothing  about  a  horse  can  be  foreign  to  me. 
I  believe  that  a  horse  has  a  soul.  The  Bible 
tells  us  that  there  are  horses  in  heaven,  and 
that  they  came  down  from  thence  to  take  up 
Elijah.  I  think  that  even  bad  men  get  to 
heaven  at  last,  and  there  is  no  reason  why- 
horses,  who  are  better  than  they  are,  should 
not  get  there  before  them.  Several  years  ago 
this  question  of  the  immortality  of  animals 
was  discussed  in  the  columns  of  the  New  York 
Evening  Post.  It  was  shown  that  many  men 
of  very  sound  minds  believed  in  it — prophets 
and  apostles  of  old,  like  Isaiah  and  John  the 
Revelator ;  later  theologians,  like  Martin 
Luther,  and  scientists  like  Cuvier  and  Agas- 
siz. 

It  matters  not  how  we  found  ourselves  at 
Ridgefield  again,  so  far  as  the  description  of 
the  road  is  concerned.  The  town  is  easy  of 
access  by  the  old  Boston  Post-road  through 
White  Plains  and  Bedford,  fifty-three  miles 
from  New  York.  Fanny  and  I  have  often 
travelled  over  it,  and  I  have  called  to  her  at- 
tention the  few  remaining  mile-stones  and  the 
tumble-down  aspect  of  old  farm-houses  long 
9 


130  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

since  deserted.  1  might  have  asked  her,  and 
obtained  an  answer  as  satisfactory  as  I  can  get 
from  others  or  from  myself,  how  it  is  that  the 
farmers  hereabouts  and  the  farmers  of  New 
York  State  and  New  England  manage  to  live. 

When  these  large  houses  were  occupied, 
their  inhabitants  did  live  by  raising  produce  for 
the  city  markets  before   railroads  were  known. 

According  to  the  theory  of  the  protection- 
ists, they  should  live  better  now  by  supplying 
the  factory  establishments  which  have  been 
built  up  in  their  neighborhood.  But  stubborn 
facts  may  disprove  any  economic  theory.  The 
farmer's  occupation  for  everything  but  the 
sale  of  milk  is  gone.  The  articles  that  he  once 
sold  he  is  obliged  now  to  buy.  Even  his  hay 
sometimes  comes  from  the  West.  His  land  is 
not  worth  the  half  of  its  price  of  fifty  years 
ago ;  and  yet,  although  he  acts  in  direct  op- 
position to  the  scheme  of  Senator  Frye,  who 
counsels  us  to  sell  everything  and  buy  nothing 
if  we  desire  to  be  successful,  he  does  live 
as  he  did  not  live  in  the  olden  time,  when  he 
and  his  family  wore  homespun  dresses,  when 
he  worked,  his  wife  worked,  his  sons  and 
daughters  worked,  and  when  he  had  nothing 
but    hard-wood    furniture    and     rag    carpets. 


THE  BENEFICENT  TARIFF.  131 

Now,  his  boys,  if  they  have  not  "  gone  into 
business,"  drive  fast  horses,  his  girls  wear  seal- 
skin sacks  and  silk  dresses,  make  music  with 
the  piano  instead  of  with  milk  pans  and  butter 
churns,  and  they  all  live  in  a  new  nicely-fur- 
nished house  and  have  plenty  of  money. 
How  is  that  Fanny  ?  Fanny  shook  her  head, 
by  which  I  understood  that,  with  all  her  horse 
sense,  she  could  not  fathom  it.  "  I  can't  see," 
I  continued,  "  how  the  farmer  can  be  so  pros- 
perous when  he  not  only  sells  nothing,  but 
buys  everything,  and  that  at  a  high  price,  in 
order  to  support  home  industries,  which  give 
him  nothing  in  return.  I  think  Fll  ask  the 
philosopher  of  the  Tribune^  Fanny  tossed 
her  head.  I  did  not  exactly  understand  if  this 
was  in  token  of  approbation  or  contempt  ;  but 
when  I  added,  "  He  will  probably  attribute  it 
to  the  beneficent  tariff,"  she  snorted  outright. 
I  saw  that  she  was  thinking  of  oats,  and  won- 
dering how,  if  the  price  should  be  advanced 
from  forty-three  to  sixty  cents  per  bushel, 
either  she  or  I  would  be  benefited. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Ridge  field  to  Daiibiiry. —  The  Burning  of  the 
Town  in  lyjy.—  The  Battle  and  Other  Revo- 
lutionary Incidents. 

The  mercury  stood  at  six  degrees  above 
zero  in  the  morning  at  Ridgefield.  It  had 
rained  on  the  previous  day,  and  now  the  sun 
shone  as  it  shines  here  through  a  foliage  and 
over  a  landscape  of  glittering  silver.  In- 
doors the  prospect  was  as  satisfactory  as  it 
was  charming  without.  The  cheerful  fire  in 
the  breakfast-room,  the  aroma  of  the  coffee, 
the  juicy  steak,  the  frequent  relays  of  buck- 
wheat cakes  that  came  upon  the  table  hot 
from  the  griddle,  and  the  mug  of  hard  cider 
which  always  goes  with  a  genuine  country 
breakfast — above  all,  the  society  of  my  hos- 
pitable entertainers — were  strong  inducements 
for  delay.  But  the  vis  inertice  of  the  after 
breakfast  easy-chair  was  at  length  overcome, 
and  wrapping  my  stirrups  with  straw,  pulling 
132 


THE  ROAD  TO  D ANBURY.  1 33 

the  blanket  back  over  my  legs  in  the  manner 
heretofore  described,  and  drawing  my  cap 
down  over  my  ears,  I  was  ready  to  start  on 
the  road  to  Danbury. 

It  was  over  many  hills  which  the  rain  of  the 
previous  day,  now  become  ice  and  covering 
the  snow,  had  adapted  to  the  purpose  of 
toboggan  sliding  rather  than  to  that  of  rid- 
ing, unless  horseshoes  are  exceptionally  well 
sharpened.  Under  these  circumstances  the 
rider  who  supposes  himself  very  careful  is 
apt  to  walk  his  horse  slowly  over  the  ground, 
especially  when  descending  hills.  That  is  an 
easily  demonstrated  mistake,  for  a  little  re- 
flection must  convince  him  that  the  animal 
should  be  put  to  a  hard  gallop  so  that  the 
shoe  corks  may  strike  heavily  and  effectively 
into  the  ice.  The  necessity  for  doing  this 
caused  the  distance  of  ten  miles  to  be  over- 
come in  little  more  than  an  hour,  and  that 
was  the  end  of  the  day's  journey,  for  before 
our  arrival  the  clouds  had  gathered  and  the 
snow  had  begun  to  drive  in  our  faces  after  the 
manner,  though  in  a  milder  degree,  of  a  Mon- 
tana blizzard. 

It  was  a  harder  road  to  travel  for  the  Brit- 
ish troops   1 1 1  years  ago.     From   Mr.  Bailey, 


134  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

the  witty  editor  of  the  Danbury  News,  who 
can  be  serious  occasionally,  and  who  in  one  of 
his  serious  moods  has  done  good  service  in 
writing  some  interesting  historical  sketches,  I 
obtained  more  information  than  I  can  com- 
press into  this  chapter,  pertaining  to  the  events 
of  the  Revolutionary  war. 

To  go  back  to  the  time  when  Danbury  was 
a  mere  protoplasm,  existing  under  the  Indian 
name  of  Pahquioque,  it  was  bought  from  the 
natives  and  honestly  paid  for  in  trinkets,  blan- 
kets, and  rum  by  some  adventurous  Yankees 
who  had  found  their  way  from  the  New  Eng- 
land coast  first  to  the  valley  of  the  Connecti- 
cut, and  thence  had  come  as  near  as  they 
dared  to  approach  to  their  former  enemies,  the 
Dutchmen,  here  establishing  an  outpost  in 
1684.  They  underwent  the  usual  experiences 
of  border  warfare,  being  often  alarmed  by 
the  demonstrations  of  the  Indians,  but  never 
having  any  serious  conflicts,  perhaps  because 
they  were  always  in  a  condition  of  defence. 

But  a  small  area  of  the  Connecticut  valley 
was  then  occupied,  and  it  is  therefore  diflficult 
to  imagine  any  motive  but  that  of  Puritan 
aggressiveness  that  could  lead  them  to  insti- 
tute a  war  against  nature   in  this  rugged  coun- 


DANBUR  Y  IN  DANGER.  \  3  5 

try  when  the  rich  and  easily  explored  river 
valley  lay  open  before  them,  a  hundred  miles 
to  the  north  and  a  hundred  miles  to  the  south. 
The  Puritans  were  like  the  Irishman  who 
always  wants  somebody  to  tread  on  the  tail  of 
his  coat,  and  like  Mark  Tapley  who  was 
happy  only  when  he  was  miserable.  For  mu- 
tual protection  this  devoted  band  lived  in 
block-houses  together,  and  from  them  they 
went  out  four  or  five  miles  every  day  to  cul- 
tivate the  best  soil  they  could  find.  After 
they  had  escaped  all  danger  from  the  Indians, 
there  came  the  French  war  to  disturb  but  not 
to  injure  them.  Their  real  suffering  came  at 
last  in  the  war  of  the  Revolution,  when  nearly 
the  whole  town  was  destroyed  and  the  earn- 
ings of  a  century  were  annihilated  by  the 
flames  in  a  single  day. 

In  April,  1777,  Gov.  Tryon  came  from  New 
York  with  2,ocxD  men,  and  landing  from  their 
boats  at  Fairfield,  they  marched  to  Danbury 
for  the  purpose  of  destroying  a  considerable 
quantity  of  Continental  stores  that  had  there 
been  collected.  These  were  "guarded  by  a 
few  Continental  troops  without  arms."  So 
the  American  story  runs,  and  it  is  added  that 
on    the  approach  of  the   British,   they  "  with- 


136  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

drew."  It  would  not  have  been  to  their  dis- 
credit if  the  truth  had  been  told  that  they  ran 
away,  although  it  was  to  the  discredit  of 
somebody  that  valuable  property  like  this  was 
so  totally  unprotected. 

The  British  entered  the  town  on  the  night  of 
April  26,  and  immediately  burned  one  house 
with  four  persons  in  it,  and  on  the  next  day 
set  the  whole  town  on  fire.  They  destroyed 
about  5,00c  barrels  of  salted  provisions,  1,000 
barrels  of  flour,  1,600  tents,  and  a  quantity  of 
rum,  wine,  rice,  etc.  Besides  these  the  esti- 
mated private  losses  were  over  $80,000. 

The  American  and  British  accounts  of  this 
conflagration  differ  only  in  the  use  of  adverbs. 
The  American  report  says  :"  The  town  was 
wantonly  burned."  The  British  report  says  : 
"The  town  was  unavoidably  burned."  Thus 
we  see  on  what  slender  threads  hangs  the 
truth  of  all  history.  For  the  credit  of  human- 
ity it  may  be  said  in  corroboration  of  Gov. 
Tryon's  story,  that  on  their  march  through 
Bethel,  where  there  were  no  munitions  of  war, 
private  property  was  unmolested. 

In  Danbury  almost  the  only  buildings 
spared  were  the  Episcopal  church  and  the  tav- 
ern.   The  former  owed  its  safety  to  the  regard 


PRESENCE  OF  MIND.  \  37 

of  the  pious  Tryon  for  the  established  religion 
of  his  country,  and  the  latter  to  the  presence 
of  mind  of  Mrs.  Taylor,  the  landlady.  When 
the  soldiers  were  about  to  apply  the  torch  she 
had  a  large  batch  of  dough  ready  for  the  oven. 
"  Why,  boys,  "  said  the  comely  matron,  placing 
her  arms  akimbo,  and  looking  smilingly  in 
their  faces,  "  I  was  just  going  to  bake  some 
nice  biscuits.  If  you  burn  the  house  down, 
you'll  lose  your  breakfasts  ;  if  you  don't,  you'll 
see  what  good  bread  a  Yankee  woman  can 
make  ;  and  I  guess  I  can  find  some  rum  to  go 
with  it.  The  old  man  has  run  away,  but  I've 
got  the  key,  and  I'm  no  more  afraid  of  you 
than  you  are  afraid  of  me.  Sit  down  and 
make  yourselves  comfortable  till  breakfast  is 
ready."  The  soldiers  took  her  at  her  word. 
She  "kissed  them  all  for  their  mothers," 
they  had  a  good  breakfast,  and  went  on  their 
way  rejoicing.  Taylor's  tavern  stood  for 
many  years,  a  monument  of  the  ready  wit  of 
Taylor's  wife. 

The  oven  figures  once  more  in  the  history 
of  Danbury.  Eli  Benedict  and  Stephen  Jarvis 
were  the  Tory  pilots  who  led  the  enemy 
into  the  town.  They  both  ''withdrew"  to 
Nova  Scotia,  to  await  the  issue'  of  the  war. 


138  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

If  the  British  had  been  victorious,  they  might 
have  returned  to  become  office-holders,  but  as 
things  turned  out  it  was  the  part  of  discretion 
to  stay  away.  Benedict  never  came  home, 
but  Jarvis,  after  many  years,  had  an  irrepres- 
sible desire  to  visit  his  friends.  He  came  to 
them  in  disguise,  but  his  presence  in  the  town 
was  suspected.  The  mob  came  to  the  house 
of  his  sister  where  he  was  imperfectly  con- 
cealed. Again  a  woman's  fertility  of  resource 
came  into  play.  She  pushed  her  brother  into 
the  great  brick  oven,  and  piling  him  over  with 
kindling-wood,  bade  the  intruders  search  the 
house  ;  and  they  searched  it  in  vain. 

On  the  first  appearance  of  the  British,  ex- 
presses were  sent  to  Gens.  Arnold  and  Woos- 
ter  at  New  Haven.  They  arrived  one  day  too 
late  for  effective  service.  If  they  could  in 
season  have  collected  even  a  few  men,  they 
might  have  swept  down  on  their  enemies  at 
night,  when  they  lay  around  the  smoking 
ruins  of  the  town  in  the  stupor  of  intoxication. 
They  arrived,  however,  on  the  next  day,  and 
dividing  their  forces,  Arnold  pushed  on  ahead 
over  the  road  I  had  just  travelled,  to  fortify 
a  pass  against  the  enemy's  approach,  while 
Wooster  followed  in  their  rear. 


THE  AMERICANS  DEFEATED.  I  39 

Without  being  a  military  critic,  it  appears 
to  me  that  Wooster  was  too  precipitate.  He 
should  have  allowed  the  British  to  come  up 
against  Arnold's  defences,  and  thus  brought 
them  between  two  fires.  Instead  of  adopting 
such  cautious  tactics,  he  pursued  them  impetu- 
ously, so  that,  although  they  were  not  in  a 
fighting  mood,  but  only  anxious  to  secure 
their  retreat,  they  faced  about  and  whipped 
this  detachment  of  the  Continentals,  mortally 
wounding  Gen.  Wooster  in  the  engagement. 

Turning  about  again,  they  came  up  with 
Gen.  Arnold,  whose  small  force  was  unable  to 
stop  them  unaided  by  the  assistance  that 
Arnold  had  counted  upon,  although  he  and  his 
men  resisted  courageously  till  all  hope  was 
lost.  The  British  then  made  their  way 
through  Ridgefield  to  their  boats,  harassed 
but  not  seriously  impeded  by  sharpshooters, 
who  peppered  them  as  opportunity  offered. 

As  usual,  American  and  British  accounts 
differ  enormously  as  to  the  number  of  killed 
and  wounded  on  their  respective  sides ;  but 
the  desolation  of  Danbury  bore  witness  to  the 
fact  that  the  object  of  the  raid  had  been 
accomplished.  Gen.  Wooster  was  brought 
back  to  one  of  the  few  houses  remaining,  and 


I40  WJNTER  SKETCHES. 

died  there  two  or  three  days  after  the  action. 
The  Congress  at  Philadelphia  passed  becoming 
resolutions  and  appropriated  a  sum  of  money 
for  the  erection  of  a  monument  to  his  mem- 
ory. It  is  an  almost  incredible  story  that  the 
amount  being  handed  over  to  the  General's 
son,  who  was  authorized  to  exercise  his  own 
taste  and  judgment,  he  diverted  the  appropri- 
ation to  his  own  uses,  and  left  his  father's 
grave  without  even  a  stone  to  designate  its 
locality.  A  later  generation  has  been  more 
grateful  to  him  than  his  unnatural  offspring, 
and  now  a  handsome  monument  records  the 
heroic  self-sacrifice  of  this  intrepid  ofificer. 

It  would  have  been  better  for  the  fame  of 
Arnold  had  he,  too,  met  his  death  upon  this 
early  battle-field.  But  he  lived  to  display 
again  and  again  his  reckless  courage  in  subse- 
quent contests  for  liberty.  No  one  can  doubt 
that  until  his  fatal  step  into  the  abyss  of  in- 
famy he  was  actuated  by  the  patriotism  as 
much  as  by  the  ambition  of  a  soldier.  It  was 
when  the  latter  was  disappointed  that  the 
former  was  betrayed.  Like  Lucifer,  he  fell 
from  the  stars,  and  as  Lucifer's  good  deeds  in 
heaven  from  all  eternity  are  not  remembered 
as  a  balance  of  account  with  his  transgression. 


DIAMOND  CUT  DIAMOND.  I4I 

SO  all  that  Benedict  Arnold  ever  did  for  the 
freedom  of  his  country  has  been  blotted  out 
by  his  futile  attempt  to  accomplish  its  ruin. 

I  sat  for  hours  that  evening  in  his  library 
with  the  editor,  who  is  an  encyclopaedia  of 
historical  knowledge,  collating  what  I  have 
written  from  his  store  of  facts  and  anecdotes. 
As  I  was  about  to  leave,  he  observed,  "  I  am 
afraid  you  will  have  a  cold  ride  to-morrow,  but 
it  is  not  as  cold  as  it  was  Sunday  morning. 
See  that  water-color  painting?  Looks  dam- 
aged, don't  it?  Well,  that  happened  Saturday 
night  because  there  was  no  fire  in  the  furnace. 
The  water  in  the  color  froze."  When  1  came 
to  know  Danbury  better  on  the  next  day,  I 
wondered  why  the  paintings  there  were  not 
done  in  whiskey :  but  my  suspicions  were  now 
aroused  by  this  remark  of  the  jocular  news- 
paper chief,  and  I  asked,  "Mr.  Bailey,  is  this 
all  true  that  you  have  been  telling  me?  " 

"True  as  Gospel,"  he  replied,  solemnly. 
"Do  you  believe  the  Gospel?"  I  inquired. 
"  In  the  main,"  responded  the  editor.  "  Well, 
then,"  I  answered,  "  I'll  believe  this  in  the 
main,  for  I  know  there  was  a  Revolutionary 
war  and  I  think  it  quite  likely  there  was  a  fire 
in  Danbury,  possibly  about  that  time.     Good 


142  WIXTER  SKETCHES. 

night.  Many  thanks."  "  Good  night,  call 
again,"  and  I  was  out  in  the  street  wading 
through  the  snow  to  the  Wooster  House, 
where  I  turned  into  a  comfortable  bed  and 
dreamed  of  British  invaders  mingled  with 
American  patriots,  and  while  there  was  a  blaze 
of  fire  all  around,  we  were  sitting  in  Mrs.  Tay- 
lor's kitchen  watching  her  as  she  baked  hot 
rolls  for  us,  the  British  Generals  Agnew  and 
Erskine,  with  Wooster  and  Arnold,  drinking 
healths  to  each  and  the  other  in  Jamaica  rum. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  Iconoclasts  of  Danbury  and  of  Boston. — Hat 
Industry. — Storms  on  Sea  and  Land. — Ride 
to  Mohegan. — Ice-Cutting  and  "  Microbats  " 
by  the  Way. 

On  the  next  morning  there  was  a  driving 
snow-storm,  but  in  this  compact  town  it  was 
not  difficult  to  get  about  the  streets.  Some 
one  pointed  out  the  old  church,  which,  as  has 
been  narrated,  the  British  spared  from  regard 
to  its  religious  denomination.  They  were 
more  generous  than  the  posterity  of  its  occu- 
pants, who  might  have  been  supposed  to  have 
had  sufficient  veneration  for  it  to  maintain  it 
in  repair,  and  to  perpetuate  it  for  its  original 
purposes.  Instead  of  doing  so  they  have  sold 
it  with  less  compunction  and  excuse  than  Esau 
had  in  disposing  of  his  birthright.  They  were 
more  hungry  for  show  than  he  was  for  pottage, 
and  so,  as  the  building  was  not  adapted  to 
modern  religious  style,  they  sold  it  to  be 
143 


144  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

moved  away  and  to  be  occupied  as  a  tenement 
house. 

"  I  wish,"  said  the  late  Harvey  D.  Parker, 
the  proprietor  of  the  hotel  in  Boston  that  bears 
his  name,  "  they'd  pull  down  that  old  King's 
Chapel  opposite.  Such  kind  of  buildings  ain't 
no  use  in  these  times."  And  then  he  turned 
around  and  viewed  complacently  the  composite 
architecture  of  his  feeding  and  lodging  es- 
tablishment. No  one  knows  how  long  the 
venerable  structure  will  be  spared.  Even  in 
aesthetic  Boston  its  continued  existence  is  but 
a  question  of  short  time.  Brattle  Street 
church  fell  at  the  demand  of  fashion,  and  al- 
though the  Old  South  was  rescued  by  private 
subscription  from  the  destruction  to  which  its 
walls  had  been  doomed  by  greed  and  religious 
ambition  aided  by  legal  chicanery,  it  has  been 
robbed  of  its  sacred  character  and  has  become 
a  museum  of  curiosities,  while  its  former  oc- 
cupants have  taken  the  many  times  thirty 
pieces  of  silver  for  which  it  was  sold,  and 
which  it  had  gained  by  more  than  two  cen- 
turies of  freedom  from  taxation,  and  built 
what  they  call  "a  magnificent  church  edifice," 
where  it  will  be  of  benefit  to  the  real  estate 


THE  HA  T  INDUSTRY.  145 

that    they  own.     The  people  of  Danbury  are 
not  more  iconoclastic  than  the  Bostonians. 

Mr.  Hull,  a  merchant  of  the  town,  kindly 
piloted  me  into  one  of  the  large  hat  factories, 
where  some  idea  might  be  obtained  of  the  pre- 
vailing local  industry.  In  this  one  alone  300 
men  and  women  are  employed.  Altogether, 
out  of  a  population  of  18,000,  3,500  men  and 
1,500  women  are  engaged  in  the  various  proc- 
esses of  making  hats,  in  the  twenty-four  fac- 
tories. They  earn  large  wages,  but  the  busi- 
ness is  not  regular  and  steady.  In  the  latter 
part  of  the  winter,  and  in  early  spring,  "times 
are  lively"  in  meeting  the  demand  for  summer 
fashions,  and  at  the  close  of  summer  and  the 
commencement  of  autumn  the  workmen  are 
called  upon  to  prepare  for  the  requirements  of 
winter.  Six  months'  work  in  the  year  is 
about  all  that  can  be  counted  on.  Although 
in  "slack  times"  there  is  a  scattering  for  a 
while  into  the  country,  and  into  the  city  of 
New  York,  there  is  necessarily  a  great  deal  of 
lamentable  idleness.  But  there  are  always 
bright  days  for  the  rumsellers.  They  "toil 
not,  neither  do  they  spin."  Others  have  done 
that  for  them,  and  they  live  much  better  than 
lilies  of  the  field.  In  some  of  the  streets  al- 
io 


146  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

most  every  other  house  is  a  "  saloon."  In 
White  Street,  about  300  yards  long,  there  are 
thirty-two  of  them.  These  are  mostly  patron- 
ized by  the  foreigners. 

In  former  times  the  hat-makers  were  all 
Americans,  and  as  machinery  had  not  been  in- 
troduced to  any  extent,  they  found  an  abun- 
dance of  work.  Even  now,  when  less  than  half 
are  Americans,  the  country  boys  and  girls 
earn  substantial  wages,  which,  to  the  disgust 
of  the  saloon-owners,  they  keep  for  them- 
selves. Near  the  factories  are  rows  of  sheds. 
Early  in  the  morning  caravans  of  wagons  or 
sleighs  may  be  seen  coming  into  town,  each 
vehicle  carrying,  besides  its  passengers,  a 
bundle  of  hay.  They  drive  to  the  sheds, 
where  the  animals  are  left  to  feed  till  evening, 
the  boys  and  girls  taking  their  dinner-pails 
along  to  their  places  of  work.  The  days  are 
long,  for  "  piece-work  "  is  indifferent  to  eight- 
hour  rules.  The  busy  employes  reserve  only 
light  enough  to  find  their  way  home,  and 
at  twilight  they  take  up  their  line  of  march. 

It  seems  to  me  that  honest,  industrious  per- 
sons like  these  should  have  some  very  fixed 
and  correct  ideas  upon  "  the  protection  of 
American    labor."      It  may  be  supposed  that 


"  PROTECTION  OF  AMERICAN  LABOR."     1 4 7 

they  would  look  askance  on  the  introduction 
of  so  much  machinery,  although  they  know  it 
is  unavoidable,  and  now  that  they  see  half  of 
the  remaining  work,  the  whole  of  which  was 
once  their  own,  being  done  by  imported  labor- 
ers, they  should  ask  themselves,  "  What  is 
the  meaning  of  the  hackneyed  phrase?  Is  pro- 
tection of  machinery  and  of  foreigners  a  pro- 
tection of  American  labor,  or  is  it  the  protection 
of  men  who  employ  machinery,  Americans, 
foreigners,  horses,  mules,  as  they  can  best  em- 
ploy anything  and  everything  for  their  greatest 
advantage  ?  " 

Hats  of  all  kinds  have  been  made  at  Dan- 
bury.  Just  now,  as  the  Derby  hat  is  almost 
universally  worn,  the  stock  and  machinery  are 
adapted  to  its  manufacture.  If  the  "stove- 
pipe "  ever  again  gets  the  ascendency,  new 
methods  will  doubtless  be  devised.  On  enter- 
ing the  factory  we  were  shown  first  the  ma- 
terial out  of  which  the  hats  are  made.  This 
is  mostly  rabbit  fur,  and  singularly  the  article 
is  chiefly  imported,  the  greater  part  of  the  sup- 
ply coming  from  Germany.  One  would  sup- 
pose the  rabbit  industry  to  be  indigenous,  and 
whatever  protection  sheep  wool  might  require, 
rabbit  wool  would  need  none.     But  the  dutA- 


148  WINJER  SKETCHES. 

on  hatters'  furs  of  twenty  per  cent,  is  often 
escaped  by  importing  the  free  skins  and  strip- 
ping them  here.  I  wonder  if  the  Australians, 
know  anything  about  Danbury  and  Derby 
hats?  Rabbits  are  overrunning  their  country 
and  devouring  their  substance.  Why  not  trap 
a  few  millions  of  them,  kill  them,  and  send 
their  skins  to  Danbury? 

First  we  were  shown  cases  of  boxes,  in  each 
division  of  which  from  2^^  to  4  ounces  of  fur 
had  been  carefuly  weighed  out  according  to 
the  weight  of  the  hats  intended  to  be  made. 

This  is  soaked  and  steamed  in  rooms  of  a 
temperature  like  that  of  a  Russian  bath,  until 
it  becomes  pulp.  Then  it  is  spread  with  al- 
most transparent  thinness  over  a  cone  three 
feet  high  and  a  foot  in  diameter.  Next  it  is 
shrunk  and  partially  dried.  By  and  by,  after 
being  dyed,  it  comes  down  to  the  size  of  an  or- 
dinary hat  when  it  is  blocked.  Now  it  would 
answer  for  a  "  wide  awake,"  but  it  must  be  stif- 
fened with  gum  shellac  and  the  edges  curled. 
Thus  far  all  this  heavy  and  dirty  labor  has 
been  done  by  men,  each  one  having  his  piece- 
work. At  this  stage  it  is  turned  over  to  the 
deft  manipulation  of  the  women,  who  bind, 
stitch,  line,   and    pack.     Then    the    carpenter 


CAPITAL  AND  LABOR.  149 

comes  and  nails  up  the  cases,  and  the  hats  are 
ready  for  shipment.  I  have  enumerated  only 
a  few  of  the  more  than  twenty  processes  of 
hat-making,  each  of  which  is  the  piece-work  of 
separate  individuals — all  "  parts  of  one  stu- 
pendous whole."  I  don't  know  if  that  phrase 
is  exactly  applicable  to  a  man's  hat.  It  cer- 
tainly is  to  that  of  a  woman  as  regarded  be- 
tween ourselves  and  the  foot-lights. 

The  relations  between  the  factory-owners 
and  their  employes  just  now  are  amicable,  but 
as  among  the  great  European  Powers,  war  is 
not  unlikely  to  break  out  at  any  moment. 
The  workmen  are  masters  of  the  situation. 
They  know,  as  well  as  their  employers  know,  to 
a  penny  what  it  costs  to  make  a  hat  and  what 
price  hats  command  in  the  market.  It  is  not 
the  employer  who  fixes  the  wages  of  the  em- 
ployed, but  it  is  the  employed  who  figures  out 
exactly  how  much  the  employer  shall  be  per- 
mitted to  make.  The>  employes  are  all  union 
men,  and  they  will  not  allow  a  single  non-un- 
ionist to  work,  nor  will  they  permit  any  boy 
under  seventeen,  or  man  over  twenty-one  years 
of  age  to  learn  the  trade.  At  present  they  are 
earning  from  three  to  five  dollars  per  day,  ac- 
cording   to    their    capacity.     That   gives   the 


I50  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

men  who  employ  them  a  fair  margin  of  profit. 
If  the  market  should  advance,  the  workmen 
will  doubtless  demand  more,  and  if  it  should 
recede,  I  think  they  are  sensible  enough  to  be 
willing  to  take  less  rather  than  be  idle.  Dan- 
bury  appears  to  have  solved  the  great  question 
of  capital  and  labor. 

Every  old  sailor  knows  that  a  southeasterly 
gale  is  most  likely  to  expend  its  fury  and  to  be 
succeeded  by  a  brisk  nor'wester  either  at  eight 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  at  midnight,  or  at  noon. 
When  coming  on  to  the  coast,  appearances  are 
closely  watched  at  these  hours.  If  there 
should  be  a  sudden  lull,  then  is  the  time  with- 
out a  moment's  delay  to  haul  up  the  courses 
and  to  stand  by  the  braces.  In  an  instant  the 
head  sails  are  taken  aback,  and  a  lively  crew 
will  swing  around  the  after  yards.  The  main- 
topsail  fills,  and  as  the  ship's  head  pays  off,  the 
head  yards  in  their  turn  are  swung,  and  the 
ship  lies  close  to  the  wind,  which  comes  rush- 
ing back  from  the  cold  north-west. 

When  this  change  occurs  at  noon,  there  can- 
not be  anything  more  grand  and  beautiful  than 
the  scene.  The  clouds  of  snow  or  rain  that  had 
been  driving  everything  before  them  in  their 
fury,  are  driven    back    upon    themselves    and 


A  NOIV  WESTER.  151 

piled  together  over  the  eastern  horizon  by  the 
young  giant  that  has  come  out  of  the  north 
scattering  them  with  the  breath  of  his  nostrils. 
Every  moment,  his  fury  increases.  After  the 
southeaster  has  succumbed,  its  waves  for  a 
time  keep  up  the  uneven  contest  until  the 
nor' wester  brings  into  action  the  waves  that 
he  has  created,  and  which  increase  under  his 
lash.  These  strike  the  old  seas  and  topple 
them  up  on  end,  sending  the  spray  of  the  com- 
bat high  in  the  air,  little  rainbows  playing 
through  their  crests.  At  last  the  old  leaden 
colored  seas  subside  and  the  blue  waters  roll  on 
in  their  beauty  and  majesty.  The  ship  that 
had  been  tossed  about  in  the  conflict,  opposing 
surges  meeting  and  tumbling  in  upon  her 
decks,  is  now  snugly  hove  to,  riding  the  billows 
like  an  albatross,  and  sailors,  disappointed  as 
they  may  be  at  the  loss  of  their  fair  wind,  are 
never  so  insensible  that  they  cannot  enjoy  the 
magnificence  of  this  great  picture  of  sky  and 
sea. 

There  is  nothing  comparable  to  it  on  the 
land.  There  are  the  same  clouds,  storms,  and 
sunshine,  the  same  poetry  of  motion  overhead, 
but  no  motion  of  the  stolid  mountains  that 
stand   still  in  their    everlasting   ranges,    fixed 


I  5  2  WINTER  SKE  TCHES. 

there  by  the  Power  that  jjives  to  the  mountain 
waves  their  ceaseless  moving  energy  of  Hfe. 
And  yet,  if  we  cannot  have  the  sea  all  the 
time,  let  us  be  grateful  for  what  the  land  affords 
that  is  beautiful,  if  not  so  grand.  The  snow 
cannot  lie  and  sparkle  on  the  breast  of  the 
ocean,  and  there  are  no  silver  forests  there — no, 
nor  sleigh-bells,  toboggan-slides,  and  skating- 
ponds,  but,  taking  it  all  in  all,  leaving  the 
waves  out  of  the  account,  could  there  be  any. 
thing  more  superb  than  the  breaking  of  the 
storm  that  day  at  Danbury? 

True  to  its  propensity,  this  came  about 
precisely  at  noon,  and  the  north-west  wind 
succeeded.  As  Fanny  and  I  left  the  town  at 
one  o'clock,  the  sleigh  tracks  were  covered  with 
a  dry  powdereck  snow,  which  here  and  there 
was  whirled  up  against  the  fences,  arching  itself 
over  them  in  drifts  and  festoons.  Everything 
looked  so  white,  so  pure,  so  clean,  as  if  there 
could  never  be  a  thaw,  when  the  roads  would 
become  dirty  brown,  then  black  bare  ground, 
the  barn-yards  reservoirs  of  filth,  the  fences 
naked  and  wet,  and  there  would  be  "water, 
water  everywhere."  I  did  not  think  of  that  at 
the  time. 

There  are  many  persons  who  would  not  have 


FANNY.  153 

enjoyed  the  present  surroundings  so  much — the 
same  sort  of  people  who  in  health  are  always 
on  the  lookout  for  sickness,  and  who  seem  to  be 
afraid  to  live  because  at  some  time  or  another 
they  will  die.  There  is  where  a  horse  generally 
has  the  advantage  over  a  man.  Horses  probably 
have  no  idea  of  death.  It  might  be  a  satisfaction 
to  car  horses  if  they  had,  but  I  do  not  think  it 
would  be  a  pleasant  thought  for  Fanny.  She 
gets  her  oats  regularly,  and,  though  the  time 
may  come  when  the  oats  are  musty  or  are  not, 
she  doesn't  trouble  herself  with  anticipating 
evil.  Let  us  all  try  to  imitate  her.  She  was 
in  remarkably  good  spirits  to-day.  Facing  the 
wind,  the  steam  from  her  nostrils  blowing  back 
upon  her  face,  she  was  a  pretty  and  unique 
picture,  with  her  bay  body  and  legs  and  her 
silver-gray  head.  Sometimes  a  little  stray 
forgotten  snow-cloud  would  come  travelling 
back  from  the  west  on  its  airy  journey  to  over- 
take the  storm  that  had  left  it  behind.  And 
then  for  a  while  we  were  all  white  till  the  wind 
had  blown  off  the  flakes.  So  cheerily  we  made 
our  way  along  through  Brewster's  and  Carmel 
until  we  came  to  Lake  Mahopac. 

Sad  was  the  appearance  of  its  great  summer 
hotels,  with  their  closed  shutters  and  barricaded 


I  54  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

doors,  huge  snowdrifts  piled  upon  the  piazzas, 
the  abandoned  photograph  shanties,  and  the 
boat-houses  with  their  signs  still  displayed, 
"  Boats  to  let  " — boats  to  let,  with  ice  eighteen 
inches  thick,  and  a  thickness  of  eighteen  inches 
of  snow  over  the  ice. 

But  there  was  no  lack  of  activity  on  the  lake. 
Gangs  of  men  were  busily  employed  in  filling 
the  two  great  ice-houses,  which  hold  60,000 
tons.  Canals,  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long, 
had  been  cut  out  into  deep  water  so  that  the 
purest  ice  might  be  obtained.  The  great  cakes 
were  pushed  along  by  men  until  they  reached 
the  shore,  when  a  sort  of  steam  tread-mill  ap- 
paratus seized  them  and  jerked  them  up  to  a 
high  platform,  from  whence  they  slid  down  to 
lie  side  by  side  or  one  above  the  other  in  a 
compact  mass  until  they  were  wanted  for  re- 
frigerators, fever  hospitals,  ice-creams,  mint 
juleps,  and  the  thousand  uses  to  which  ice  is 
put  in  summer,  the  most  common  and  the 
worst  of  which  is  that  of  ruining  the  digestion 
of  persons  who  drink  ice-water  with  their  meals. 

There  was  not  always  such  a  craze  for  ice- 
water  in  this  country.  It  has  not  yet  invaded 
Europe.  Doubtless  it  was  to  Mr.  Breslin  one 
of   the   most    objectionable    practices   of   the 


"  MICROS  A  TS."  I  5  5 

London  hotels  that  they  do  not  serve  goblets 
of  this  pernicious  drink  to  their  guests.  I 
remember  reading  in  an  old  magazine — I  think 
of  about  1802 — an  account  of  the  tubing  from 
a  very  cold  spring  near  the  "city  prison"  in 
New  York,  and  it  was  mentioned  as  an  especial 
advantage  for  those  who  lived  at  a  considerable 
distance,  that  as  the  water  had  so  far  to  run  in 
the  logs,  "  it  lost  somewhat  of  its  coldness  as 
when  first  taken  from  the  spring." 

I  stopped  to  talk  with  a  man  who  appeared 
to  be  directing  some  others  at  the  lake,  and 
congratulated  him  on  the  successful  harvest  of 
the  crop.  "Jes'  so,  jes'  so,"  he  said.  "Well, 
yes,  it  will  be  a  big  thing  this  year — our  folks 
can  get  any  price  they  want." 

"  How  is  that .''  "  I  asked. 

"  Why,  on  account  of  them  microbats  in  the 
North  River  ice.  It's  all  pizen,  and  nobody 
will  use  it.     Ours  hasn't  got  any  of  'em  in  it." 

"  Well,  what's  the  matter  with  the  North 
River  ice  ?" 

"  Microbats,  didn't  I  tell  you  !  You  get  a 
microscope  and  examine  a  drop  of  that  water: 
there's  ten  million  microbats  in  it,  and  every 
one  of  'em  is  a  snake.  They  lay  so  clost  to- 
gether  that   they   keep  'emselves  warm,   and 


156  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

don't  freeze  when  the  water  freezes  solid. 
Then  when  the  ice  thaws  out,  there  they  be. 
Folks  that  drink  that  kind  of  ice-water  get 
typhoid  fever,  malaria,  measles,  and  small-pox, 
to  say  nothin'  of  having  live  critters  crawlin' 
round  inside  of  'em." 

"  But  how  would  they  work  in  whiskey  ?  "  I 
suggested.     "  Wouldn't  that  kill  them  ?  " 

"  Now,  that's  something  I  hadn't  thought 
of,"  replied  the  ice  man.     "  Perhaps  it  might." 

"  Well,  then,"  I  replied,  as  I  touched  Fanny 
lightly  with  the  spur,  "  New  Yorkers,  on  the 
whole,  may  consider  themselves  safe." 

Nine  miles  more  to  Mohegan,  arriving  at 
our  old  quarters  there  at  five  o'clock. 

"Delightful  ride,  wasn't  it,  Fanny?  I  hope 
you  are  not  tired  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Where  are  we  going 
next  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say  just  now.  Here,  take  this  lump 
of  sugar,  give  me  your  paw,  and  trot  off  to  your 
stable." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

The  West  Side  of  the  Hudson. —  The  Discov- 
erer s  Dream.  — Revolutionary  Memories. — 
On  Andres  Track. — Over  the  Ice-Bridge. — 
Fanny  s  Misgivings. 

Frequently  passing  up  and  down  the 
eastern  bank  of  the  Hudson  River,  whether  by 
rail  or  over  the  highway,  the  steep  PaHsades 
and  the  range  of  which  they  form  a  part, 
stretching  far  north  to  the  higher  Kaaterskills 
on  the  western  side,  in  their  varied  dresses  of 
the  seasons,  changing  from  green  to  russet- 
gray,  and  then  to  the  silver  of  the  frozen  tor- 
rents or  the  dazzling  white  of  midwinter,  are 
ever-present  pictures  of  scenery  which  famili- 
arity cannot  render  tame  or  uninteresting. 
They  seem  to  have  been  built  up  to  hide  some- 
thing beyond  and  to  excite  our  imagination 
with  conjectures  of  what  it  may  be.  As  Irving 
looked  upon  them  from  the  porch  of  Sunnyside, 
he  peopled  them  with  the  beings   of  his  own 

157 


158  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

fancy,  turning  loose  his  hobgoblins  to  disport 
themselves  with  a  mortal  who  dared  to  trust 
himself  in  their  wild  recesses.  Familiar  as  he 
was  with  that  little  strip  of  New  York,  which, 
to  look  at  it  on  the  map,  would  seem  to  belong 
of  right  to  New  England,  and  of  which  he 
could  speak  with  accuracy,  as  he  did  in  his 
"  Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow,"  he  was  obliged  to 
confine  himself  to  imagination  in  his  descrip- 
tion  of  the  terra  incognita  that  he  dared  not 
to  cross  the  river  to  survey. 

There  must  have  always  been  something 
forbidding  about  that  western  shore,  for  when 
Hendrik  Hudson  anchored  in  the  river  on  the 
nth  of  September,  in  the  year  1609,  he  made 
no  attempt  to  land  upon  it,  but  pulled  away  to 
an  island  on  the  other  side,  armed  with  a 
demijohn  of  gin,  with  which  he  attacked  and 
subdued  the  natives,  who,  not  having  had  any 
name  for  the  spot,  called  it  Manhattan — the 
place  of  drunkenness — in  honor  of  the  occa- 
sion ;  and  the  name  is  still  appropriately  re- 
tained. In  this  first  encounter  with  the  abo- 
rigines, the  harder  and  more  accustomed 
head  of  the  explorer  stood  him  in  good 
stead,  although    his    share    of   the    fire-water 


THE  DISCOVERER'S  DREAM.  159 

may,  perhaps,  account  for  his  prophetic  dream 
of  the  night. 

The  southern  breeze  had  died  away, 

The  ebbing  tide  to  seaward  ran ; 
It  was  the  twih'ght  hour  of  day, 

E'er  night  her  starry  reign  began. 

Hendrik  had  dropped  his  anchor  there, 

Beneath  the  bristling  PaHsade, 
When  sunset  streamed  its  golden  hair. 

On  Nature's  face  in  slumber  laid. 

And  as  he  paced  the  decks  alone, 

Fond  memory  brightened  into  hope ; 

The  past  was  his,  and  the  unknown 
Was  in  the  future's  horoscope. 

He  stopped,  and  gazing  at  the  view, 
Sat  leaning  o'er  the  galliot's  side. 

And  saw  the  Indians'  light  canoe 
Dance  o'er  the  sparkling  starlit  tide. 

The  music  of  the  parted  stream. 
The  wafted  land-breeze  vesper  sigh, 

Stole  o'er  his  senses,  and  his  dream 
Encouraged  by  the  lullaby 


l6o  WrMTER  SKETCHES. 

He  thought  he  saw  the  small  canoe 
Grow  big,  and  bigger — bigger  yet, 

Then  changing  into  something  new, 
It  was  a  sloop  with  mainsail  set. 

And  then  this  white  bird  had  her  young, 
They  grew  like  her,  and  clustered  'round, 

And  "  Yo  heave  ho  "  was  cheer'ly  sung 
As  sloops  were  up  and  downward  bound. 

And  still  they  grew,  as  Fashion's  dames 
Increase  in  flounce  and  furbelow; 

Brigs,  ships,  and  craft  of  various  names 

Float  'round  the  anchored  Dutchman's  bow. 

*Twas  nothing  strange,  he'd  seen  them  oft, 
Perhaps  less  jaunty,  snug  and  trim  ; 

But  then  those  flags  he  saw  aloft, 

Those  stars  and  stripes,  were  new  to  him. 

But  now  he  sees,  or  thinks  he  sees, 

A  mill  afloat,  with  water  wheels 
Revolving,  coming  near!     His  knees 

Shake  with  the  fear  that  o'er  him  steals. 

It  thunders  on  with  furious  blast ; 

It  is  the  devil's  ship  of  fire  ; 
Like  lightning  sweeps  the  phantom  past 

On  bickering  wheels  that  never  tire. 


THE  PALISADES.  l6l 

Then  underneath  the  lurid  light 
She  leaves  above  her  foamy  track, 

Upsprings  to  his  astonished  sight 
A  city  on  Manhattan's  back. 

'Tis  pandemonium  !     Demons  scream 
Through  thousand  whistles  in  his  ear, 

And  fiends  on  iron  horses  seem 
To  shoot  along  their  mad  career  ! 

Through  the  still  air,  the  midnight  bell 

Sent  out  the  music  of  its  stroke  ; 
The  anchor  watch  sang  out,  "  All's  well," 

And  Hendrik  from  his  dream  awoke. 

To-day  the  crests  of  the  Palisades  are 
densely  wooded  as  they  were  two  hundred 
and  seventy-nine  years  ago,  and  it  is  not  till 
the  traveller  has  progressed  some  twenty  miles 
to  the  north  that,  looking  across,  he  sees  scat- 
tered houses,  towns,  and  village  cities  that 
have  crept  down  and  established  themselves 
on  the  waterside.  People  of  the  eastern  shore 
do  not  care  to  have  any  intercourse  with  them. 
Before  the  Revolutionary  war  there  was  Dobbs 
Ferry  above  Yonkers,  and  King's  Ferry  above 
Sing  Sing,  but  latterly  there  has  been  no  cross- 
11 


l62  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

ing-place  below  West  Point  excepting  between 
Tarrytown  and  Nyack,  and  the  ferry-boat 
which  did  that  service  having  been  burned,  it 
has  not  been  thought  worth  while  to  replace 
her. 

About  the  line  between  New  York  and  New 
Jersey  over  there,  there  are  curious  old  Dutch 
settlements,  and  there  are  Revolutionary  leg- 
ends of  battles  and  of  the  rank  treason  hatched 
upon  their  shores.  I  have  always  desired  to 
tread  upon  their  ground. 

An  opportunity  was  offered  by  the  building 
of  the  great  natural  bridge  which  this  year  has 
stretched  across  the  Hudson  from  its  source 
far  down  to  within  fifteen  miles  of  New  York. 
How  well  the  Ice  King  does  his  architectural 
work !  First  he  fringes  the  shores  and  spreads 
his  glassy  outworks  towards  the  channel;  it 
is  a  long  time  before  they  meet,  but  when 
they  touch  and  come  together,  the  building 
goes  rapidly  on,  the  substrata  thicken  inch  by 
inch  until  what  seems  to  be  the  maximum  of 
two  feet  is  gained. 

In  the  last  winter  Fanny  and  I  had  gone 
over  the  road  travelled  by  the  hapless  Andr^ 
from  his  landing  on  the  eastern  shore  until  he 
was  captured  at  Tarrytown,  and  his  subsequent 


A  COLD  MORNING.  1 63 

fortunes  were  traced  as  he  was  led  from  place 
to  place,  a  prisoner.  I  now  proposed  to  avail 
ourselves  of  the  chance  offered  by  the  closing 
of  the  river,  to  cross  it  as  near  as  might  be,  in 
an  opposite  direction,  on  the  route  of  the  old 
ferry  which  served  Andre's  purpose,  for  it  is 
not  true,  as  is  generally  supposed,  that  he  was 
brought  over  by  a  row-boat  in  the  darkness, 
being  supplied  with  a  horse  after  landing. 

It  was  very  cold  on  the  morning  of  the  i6th 
of  February.  The  mercury  at  eight  o'clock 
stood  at  five  degrees  below  zero,  but  the  air 
was  perfectly  still,  so  that  at  ten,  when  the 
glass  indicated  zero,  the  lack  of  wind  aided  by 
the  sun-warmth  already  appreciable  in  the 
advance  of  the  season,  rendered  riding  not 
only  far  from  uncomfortable,  but  gave  it  a 
zest  and  enjoyment  not  to  be  attained  under 
any  other  conditions. 

Leaving  Lake  Mohegan  we  pursued  our 
noiseless  way  over  the  well-beaten  sleigh 
tracks,  down  through  the  village  of  Peekskill, 
meeting  here  and  there  a  muFfled  pedestrian. 
Most  of  the  people  were  occupied  in  the  many 
stove  foundries  which  contribute  to  its  princi- 
pal industry.  On  a  day  like  this  they  might 
well  make  themselves  comfortable  about  their 


164  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

stoves,  and  wish,  for  the  success  of  their  busi- 
ness, that  all  the  days  of  the  year  might  be 
like  unto  it. 

I  once  asked  a  stove  manufacturer  why  he 
was  a  protectionist,  and  why  he  so  cheerfully 
submitted  to  a  heavy  duty  on  the  iron  that 
he  worked.  "  Oh,  well,"  said  the  manufacturer, 
whose  house  had  just  divided  the  year's  profit 
of  $48,000,  "  we  can  stand  it  ;  we  get  enough 
out  of  the  public,  and  so  we  can  afford  to  let 
the  pig-iron  men  get  something  out  of  us." 
I  did  not  propose  just  now  to  leave  Fanny  out 
in  the  cold  while  I  went  into  his  ofifice  to  argue 
the  question  with  him.  She  might  have  stood 
there  till  this  time,  and  my  friend  would  not 
have  satisfied  me  that  any  reduction  of  the 
duty  on  pig-iron  would  infallibly  reduce  his 
own  profits  and  the  wages  of  his  men, 

Verplanck's  Point,  where  it  projects  into  the 
Hudson,  is  four  miles  below  Peekskill,  almost 
directly  opposite  Stony  Point  upon  the  other 
side.  The  British  held  these  commanding 
positions,  which  gave  them  control  of  the 
river.  Later  in  the  war  they  were  abandoned, 
and  the  Americans  extended  their  lines  nomi- 
nally to  the  vicinity  of  Tarrytown,  although 
the  intervening  ten  or    fifteen   miles  were   at 


STONY  POINT.  165 

times  included  in  that  debatable  terriority  in- 
fested by  Cowboys  and  Skinners,  and  known 
as  the  "neutral  ground," 

The  fortress  on  Stony  Point  was  captured 
in  July,  1779,  by  Gen.  Wayne,  with  the  aid 
of  the  first  "  intelligent  contraband  "  on  rec- 
ord. Old  Pomp  had  supplied  the  British  gar- 
rison with  strawberries,  and  in  the  routine  of 
his  business  he  became  possessed  of  the  coun- 
tersign. The  primary  attack  of  the  Americans 
was  upon  Pompey's  cabin,  where  he  was  cap- 
tured and  subdued  with  little  difficulty.  At 
first  he  refused  to  betray  his  customers,  but 
by  dint  of  promises  of  many  chickens  and 
threats  of  disabling  his  shins,  he  was  induced 
to  lead  the  Continentals  into  the  stronghold. 
Wayne  advanced  by  the  side  of  Pompey  at 
the  head  of  his  troops  under  cover  of  darkness, 
and  after  a  hand-to-hand  bayonet  fight,  with- 
out firing  a  single  gun,  they  subdued  the 
garrison  and  took  543  prisoners.  In  the  end, 
after  being  evacuated  and  again  occupied  by 
the  British,  the  forts  on  both  sides  of  the  river 
were  abandoned  and  dismantled,  the  King's 
Ferry  being  continued  between  the  points. 

Fanny  and  I  approached  the  river  at  the 
spot  in  Verplanck's  where  Andr6  landed  under 


l66  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

the  guidance  of  Joshua  Hett  Smith,  who  fig- 
ured conspicuously  in  the  treason,  and  to 
whose  connection  with  it  I  shall  give  a  prom- 
inent place  in  this  narrative,  because  his  name 
has  not  always  been  brought  forward  with 
those  of  his  principals.  The  river,  frozen  with 
a  thickness  of  nearly  two  feet,  was  still  further 
covered  by  a  foot  of  snow.  Far  as  the  eye 
could  reach  to  the  Highlands  of  the  north, 
and  beyond  the  wide  Tappaan  Zee  at  the 
South,  it  was  all  an  unbroken  prairie  of  white. 
We  might  have  crossed  in  the  exact  track 
of  Andr6  and  Smith  to  Stony  Point,  a  dis- 
tance of  about  a  mile,  but  by  taking  a  diag- 
onal course  of  four  miles  to  Haverstraw  there 
was  a  saving  of  time.  To  all  appearance 
a  great  field  lay  before  us.  Why  should 
Fanny  suppose  it  to  be  anything  else  ?  She 
had  never  been  there  before.  Why  should 
she  know  that  beneath  that  fair  covering  of 
snow  there  was  a  layer  of  ice,  and  that  beneath 
the  ice  there  was  water  enough  to  drown  a 
thousand  regiments  of  cavalry  ?  There  was 
not  the  slightest  difference  in  the  look  of  the 
snow  upon  the  river  and  upon  the  land  over 
which  we  came  to  it.  Nevertheless,  she  was 
so  reluctant    to    follow  the  foot-tracks    that  I 


FA iW NY'S  MISGIVINGS.  1 6/ 

was  obliged  to  dismount  and  give  her  a  "stern 
board."  Even  then,  when  once  upon  the  river, 
she  trembled  excessively,  and  looking  into  her 
eye  I  could  see  the  thought  in  her  brain,  and 
knew  that  if  she  could  speak  she  would  say  : 
"  I  have  every  confidence  in  you,  but  I  am  a 
female  and  you  must  make  allowance  for  me. 
You  say  the  ice  is  two  feet  thick ;  but  I  might 
break  in.  Can't  we  go  around  by  the  bridge 
at  Albany  or  the  ferry  at  New  York.-*  No? 
'  Come  on,  Fanny,  is  it  ? '  That's  all  well 
enough  for  you.  You  say  you  will  lead  me 
till  I  gain  more  confidence ;  but  these  are 
tracks  of  men.  Horses  weigh  a  great  deal 
more  than  men,  and  I  don't  see  a  single  horse- 
track  on  the  snow !  "  Caresses  and  sugar, 
however,  had  some  effect,  but  she  stepped  tim- 
idly and  gingerly  along  until  we  came  to  the 
well  marked  sleigh-track.  All  at  once  her  fears 
vanished  as  she  trod  it  with  a  firm  step,  and 
permitting  me  to  mount  her,  she  loped  over 
the  frozen  river  as  if  it  had  been  a  highway 
upon  the  land.  Animal  instinct,  was  it  ?  No; 
it  was  thought,  reflection,  calculation,  like  that 
of  a  man,  without  his  knowledge  of  safety — 
nervousness,    fear,    distrust,  like    that    of    a 


l68  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

woman,    which    refuses    to     be    overcome    by 
reason. 

So  we  went  on  confidently  and  satisfactorily 
until  suddenly  there  came  one  of  those,  to  the 
inexperienced,  fearful  ice-quakes,  giving  the 
impression  that  our  weight  was  cracking  and 
breaking  down  the  great  winter-bridge  through 
all  its  length  and  breadth,  and  that  we  were 
about  to  sink  into  the  depths  below.  The  hills 
on  either  side  took  up  the  echo,  and  poor 
Fanny  thought  that  her  last  moment  had 
come,  and  that  she  was  about  to  expire  in  a 
convulsion  of  nature.  She  stood  still  and 
trembled  from  head  to  foot.  Cold  as  it  was, 
the  sweat  broke  out  upon  her,  and  with  it  the 
hair  on  her  skin  literally  stood  on  end.  I 
never  so  pitied  a  dumbthinking  beast.  Dis- 
mounting, I  put  my  arm  around  her  neck, 
drew  her  head  down  to  my  breast,  patted  her 
face,  and  kissed  her  cheek,  yes,  I  did,  and  I 
walked  by  her  side  comforting  her  as  best  I 
could  for  the  rest  of  the  way,  as  again  and 
again  the  fearful,  though  harmless,  crashes  re- 
verberated from  shore  to  shore.  For  her  sake, 
I  was  glad  when  we  landed  at  Haverstraw. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  "  Smith  House''  at  Haver  straw. — A  Revo- 
lutionary Copperhead. —  The  Landing  from 
the  "  Vulture." — Two  Fateful  Musket  Shots. 
—  The  Cider-Mill  Engagement. — Smith's 
Misadventure. 

I  HAD  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Mr.  Lil- 
burn,  who,  I  had  been  told,  had  lived  in  the 
"  Smith  house  "  for  many  years,  and  who  now 
resided  in  the  new  house  that  he  had  built 
near  by.  We  had  crossed  the  river,  landing 
two  miles  below  the  place,  but  Fanny  was  so 
overjoyed  at  being  on  terra  firma  again,  that 
she  skipped  nimbly  over  the  road  to  find  an 
entertainment  as  agreeable  to  her  in  Mr.  Lil- 
burn's  stable,  as  was  provided  for  me  at  his 
hospitable  board. 

The  events  of  the  Arnold  treason  are  nar- 
rated in  books  of  history,  and  are  often  re- 
peated in  magazines  and  newspapers.  Never- 
169 


I/O  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

theless,  there  are  items  to  be  gathered  on  the 
spot,  brought  down  by  tradition,  seasoned  per- 
haps with  romance,  but  having  for  their  stock 
the  meat  of  truth. 

After  dinner,  my  obliging  host  accompanied 
me  to  the  historic  house,  where  we  were  po- 
Htely  received  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weiant,  the 
present  occupants.  It  cannot  be  agreeable  to 
the  privacy  of  family  life  to  dwell  in  a  "  show 
place."  No  one  would  care  to  live  in  Shaks- 
pere's  home,  or  at  Mount  Vernon,  if  they  could 
be  had  house-rent  free.  But  these  kind  people 
declare  that  they  are  not  disturbed  by  their 
frequent  visitors,  who  are  always  made  wel- 
come to  explore  the  premises. 

The  house  was  built  140  years  ago.  It  is 
one  of  those  old-fashioned  structures  whose 
builders  studied  architectural  comfort  rather 
than  architectural  monstrosities  of  "  kitty-cor- 
nered "  roofs,  mediaeval  turrets,  and  all  sorts  of 
composite  irregularities  that  are  laid  to  the 
charge  of  good  Queen  Anne.  On  each  side  of 
the  wide  hall,  with  its  ample  staircase,  are  two 
large  square  rooms,  duplicated  by  similar 
chambers  overhead.  The  first  chamber  in  the 
south-east  corner  is  the  one  where  Arnold  and 
Andre  were  closeted  and  where  the  plans  of 


A  REVOLUTFONARY  COPPERHEAD.         I/I 

West  Point  were  delivered.  A  part  of  the 
original  furniture  is  still  there.  A  little  secret 
closet  is  pointed  out  where  Andr6  was  said  to 
have  been  concealed  ;  but  this  is  one  of  the 
absurd  traditions  which,  I  believe,  Lossing  has 
adopted  as  authentic  without  reflection. 
There  can  be  no  foundation  for  it  whatever,  as 
there  was  no  pretence  of  secrecy  in  his  visit 
to  the  house. 

Mr.  Smith  was  a  gentleman  of  high  social 
standing  and  wealth,  but  his  great  mistake  lay 
in  his  abortive  attempt  to  sit  comfortably  on 
two  stools,  which  finally  brought  him  ignomin- 
iously  to  the  floor.  He  was  a  sort  of  Revolu- 
tionary Copperhead.  As  he  intimates  in  his 
little  book,  copies  of  which  are  very  rare  (but 
one  of  them  is  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Lil- 
burn),  published  in  "England  and  reprinted  in 
America  after  the  war,  he  was  a  Tory. 

In  those  days  there  were  Tories  of  two 
classes.  The  out-and-out  Tory  was  one  who 
stood  by  the  King  through  thick  and  thin,  op- 
posing the  war  as  unjustifiable  from  the  begin- 
ning, and  maintaining  his  allegiance  squarely 
by  taking  up  arms  in  the  cause  of  his  sovereign. 
The  other  was  the  m.an  who  acknowledged  the 
grievances   of  the  colonies,   but  was  opposed 


1/2  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

to  their  separation  from  the  mother  country. 
When  England,  alarmed  at  the  negotiations 
which  resulted  in  the  alliance  with  France, 
manifested  a  willingness  to  accede  to  the 
original  demands  of  the  colonies,  the  Tories  of 
this  stamp  supposed  that  all  the  objects  of  the 
war  might  be  accomplished,  and  therefore  ob- 
jected to  its  continuance  for  the  sake  of  a  dis- 
tinct government,  which  they  conceived  would 
be  for  the  interest  of  military  and  political 
agitators,  among  whom  they  classed  Washing- 
ton himself. 

It  may  be  added  that  there  was  still  a  third 
class  who,  like  the  old  woman  whose  husband 
was  fighting  with  the  bear,  "  didn't  care  which 
whipped,"  so  that  she  was  not  disturbed.  All 
that  they  were  anxious  about  was  the  safety  of 
their  own  lives  and  property.  For  the  first 
class  we  may  well  entertain  a  sincere  respect. 
Certainly  our  Republican  friends,  who  consider 
taxation  for  the  benefit  of  the  few  to  be  an 
advantage  to  the  whole  community,  will  agree 
with  them  that  it  was  a  wicked  thing  for  any- 
body to  war  against  the  King  of  England  be- 
cause he  endeavored  to  collect  a  small  duty  on 
tea ;  and  all  of  us  are  willing  to  accord   to  sin- 


SMITH'S  CHARACTER.  1 73 

cerity  in  error  something  of  the  credit  due  to 
principle. 

In  his  treatise,  Mr.  Joshua  Hett  Smith  de- 
clares that  he  was  on  the  American  side,  al- 
though he  thought  the  war  had  gone  far 
enough,  while  facts  show  that  he  was  not  only 
destitute  of  all  patriotism,  but  was  supremely 
selfish,  and  what  was  infinitely  worse,  he  con- 
nived at  the  betrayal  of  his  country. 

To  all  indications,  when  the  British  lines 
extended  above  Haverstraw,  he  was  a  loyal 
subject  of  the  king;  but  when  his  property 
came  within  the  American  lines,  he  lavishly 
extended  his  hospitalities  to  the  Continental 
officers.  Arnold  and  Burr  were  frequently  his 
guests,  and  the  latter  left  his  name  carved  in 
the  marble  of  the  dining-room  mantelpiece, 
where  it  is  shown  as  one  of  the  curiosities  of 
the  house. 

In  his  book.  Smith  complains  that  he  was 
not  taken  into  Arnold's  confidence,  regretting 
that  he  was  therefore  unable  to  defeat  his 
plans,  while  he  unconsciously  makes  it  evident 
that  he  knew  perfectly  well  the  object  of 
Andr6's  visit,  assisting  in  his  disguise  by  lend- 
ing him  his  own  coat.  It  was  this  reluctant 
exchange   of   his   uniform    which   settled   the 


174  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

British  officer's  doom  as  a  spy,  and  Smith, 
together  with  Arnold  who  proposed  it,  were 
responsible  for  his  fate.  It  is  curious  to  no- 
tice how  the  case  was  regarded  by  some  jour- 
nals in  England.  The  (London)  Political 
Magazine  of  February,  1781,  says  of  it: 
"  Washington  has  tried  Smith  for  being  in 
what  they  call  Arnold's  conspiracy  ;  but  the 
trial  has  turned  out  a  mere  farce,  for  Smith 
has  not  suffered  any  punishment.  The  people 
in  New  York  therefore  believe  that  Smith  be- 
trayed Andre  to  the  rebels,  and  are  of  opinion 
that  he  never  can  clear  up  his  character  any- 
where but  at  the  gallows !  "  Truly  the  way  of 
the  transgressor  is  hard.  If  Washington  could 
have  convicted  him,  he  would  have  hanged 
him,  and  if  the  editor  of  the  Political  Magazine 
had  gotten  him  in  his  power,  he  would  have 
had  him  hanged  again.  He  escaped  the  first 
execution  before  his  trial  was  concluded,  by 
disguising  himself  in  women's  clothes  and  get- 
ting down  to  New  York,  where  fortunately  for 
him,  Sir  Henry  Clinton  did  not  take  the  edito- 
rial view  of  his  case. 

The  Vulture  had  anchored  off  Croton  Point, 
not  far  below  Haverstraw,  and  Arnold  at 
Smith's  house  had  furnished  him  with  a  flag  of 


ANDR&  AND  ARNOLD.  1 75 

truce  to  communicate  with  her.  It  was  rather 
odd  that  a  boat  carrying  such  a  flag  should 
have  approached  the  ship  with  muffled  oars  by 
night,  and  it  is  not  surprising  that  the  bearer 
met  with  a  rough  reception  from  the  officer  of 
the  deck.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  he  gained 
admittance  to  Capt.  Southerland's  cabin,  and 
presented  his  credentials.  Maj.  Andre,  under 
the  name  of  John  Anderson,  then  accompanied 
him  to  the  shore,  where  they  landed  just  below 
Haverstraw,  and  found  Arnold  concealed  in 
the  bushes,  while  a  servant  was  in  charge  of 
two  horses.  Here  was  the  first  conference,  in 
which  Smith  complains  that  he  was  not  al- 
lowed to  participate.  It  was  prolonged  till 
daylight  when,  the  tide  not  serving  for  An- 
dre's return  to  the  ship,  he  and  Arnold  mount- 
ed the  horses  and  rode  through  the  town  to 
Smith's  house,  while  the  latter  pulled  around 
with  the  boat's  crew  to  an  upper  landing,  with 
the  intention  of  rowing  Andre  down  to  the 
Vulture  on  the  turn  of  the  tide. 

In  the  meantime  important  events  were  oc- 
curring on  the  opposite  shore,  small  in  their 
beginning,  but  of  infinite  importance  in  results. 
But  for  them  Andr6  would  have  effected  his 
escape  safely,  Arnold's  plans  would  have  ma- 


1 76  WINTER  SKE  TCHES. 

tured,  West  Point  would  have  fallen,  British 
communication  with  Canada  would  have  been 
opened,  the  war  would  have  been  brought  to  a 
close,  and  these  United  States  might  have  re- 
mained till  this  day  the  colonies  of  Great  Brit- 
ain. All  this  was  prevented  by  two  musket 
shots  fired  from  a  cider-mill. 

On  the  morning  of  September  22,  Moses 
Sherwood  and  Jack  Peterson,  a  mulatto  who 
afterwards  enlisted  in  the  army  and  received  a 
pension  for  his  services,  were  working  their 
cider-press  at  Croton  Point,  on  the  farm  which 
of  late  has  been  known  as  Underbill's  vineyard. 
As  was  customary  in  those  stirring  days,  the 
men  carried  with  them  their  muskets  to  their 
places  of  work  or  of  worship.  These  two  had 
watched  the  movements  of  the  English  man- 
o'-war  with  suspicion,  wondering  what  her 
errand  could  be,  so  far  from  her  usual  anchor- 
age. 

Their  suspicions  were  increased  when  they 
saw  a  boat  put  off  from  the  Vulture,  possibly 
with  the  purpose  of  communicating  with  the 
western  shore  to  discover  the  cause  of  Maj. 
Andre's  delay.  Each  took  up  his  musket,  and 
one  after  the  other  fired  upon  the  boat,  the 
last  shot  splintering  an  oar,  and  causing  an  im- 


A  SPIRITED  ENGAGEMENT.  1 77 

mediate  return  to  the  ship,  which  forthwith 
entered  into  a  spirited  engagement  with  the 
cider-mill.  The  noise  brought  all  the  neigh- 
boring farmers  to  the  spot,  and  as  fortunately 
there  was  a  twelve-pounder  field-piece  at  hand, 
it  was  brought  into  requisition.  They  dragged 
it  down  to  the  end  of  the  point  and  directed  it 
over  a  bank  of  natural  earthworks  against  the 
Vulture.  She  replied  with  round  shot,  one  of 
which  lodged  in  an  oak  tree.  When  the  tree 
fell  from  decay  not  many  years  ago,  the  ball 
was  extracted,  and  is  now  one  of  the  many 
curiosities  gathered  by  Dr.  Coutant  at  Tarry- 
town.  The  farmers  made  it  too  hot  for  the 
sloop  of  war,  and  she  accordingly  dropped 
down  the  river,  out  of  range. 

The  conspirators  at  Haverstraw  had  wit- 
nessed the  action,  and,  as  may  be  imagined, 
were  chagrined  at  its  consequences.  Smith 
himself  was  too  badly  frightened  to  undertake 
the  return  of  Andre  by  passing  the  battery 
and  running  the  risk  of  being  overhauled  by 
patrol  boats,  and  as  Arnold  was  unaccountably 
unwilling  to  provide  another  flag  of  truce,  the 
boat's  crew  became  suspicious  and  absolutely 
refused  to  go  upon  the  errand.  Arnold  ac- 
cordingly departed  for  his  quarters,  after  pro- 


1 78  ^VIN TER  SKE  TCHES. 

viding  Smith  and  Andre  each  with  a  pass,  and 
instructing  the  former  to  escort  the  latter  to 
a  place  of  safety,  whence  he  might  find  his 
way  to  New  York. 

Dr.  Coutant  has  the  facsimile  of  Andre's 
pass  from  Arnold,  It  is  written  with  a  steady 
hand  on  a  bit  of  paper  about  the  size  of  a  half 
page  of  a  note  sheet.  Late  in  the  afternoon 
Smith  and  Andr6  mounted  the  two  saddle- 
horses  that  had  been  used  in  the  morning,  and 
rode  three  or  four  miles  up  the  river  to  the 
ferry  at  Stony  Point.  The  horses  were  taken 
across  with  them  in  the  scow  which  served  for 
the  King's  Ferry  transit.  Thus  the  landing 
at  Verplanck's  Point  was  effected,  but  as 
yet  the  spy  and  the  traitor  did  not  feel  at 
ease. 

Smith  was  a  good  pilot.  After  finding  com- 
fortable lodgings  at  the  house  of  McKoy,  a 
Tory  Scotchman,  on  the  Yorktown  road  which 
was  taken  in  order  to  avoid  the  American 
militia  scattered  along  the  river  bank,  they 
went  on  in  the  morning  to  Pine's  Bridge, 
where  they  parted,  Smith  directing  Andre  to 
take  the  road  through  to  White  Plains,  and 
thus  avoid  the  river  altogether.  Last  winter 
Fanny  and  I  traced  them  along  this  road  and 


AN  IMPUDENT  SCOUNDREL.  1 79 

came  to  the  corner  below  Pine's  Bridge,  where 
Andr^,  left  to  his  own  resources,  made  his  mis- 
take of  turning  to  the  right  in  the  direction  of 
the  Hudson.  Smith  pursued  his  route,  not 
homewards,  but  towards  Fishkill,  where  his 
wife  happened  to  be,  congratulating  himself 
on  his  perfect  safety  after  so  many  hairbreadth 
escapes,  for  they  had  twice  been  called  upon 
to  show  their  passes  on  the  road,  and  once 
narrowly  escaped  detection.  He  jogged  along 
comfortably  and  arrived  at  Fishkill  in  due 
time. 

But  he  was  a  greatly  astonished  man,  when, 
after  the  conscientious  discharge  of  his  patri- 
otic duties,  sleeping  by  the  side  of  the  partner 
of  his  previous  joys  and  future  sorrows,  he  was 
roughly  dragged  from  his  bed  and  taken  down 
to  Washington's  headquarters,  at  what  is  now 
Garrison's  Landing.  He  could  not  under- 
stand it  at  all.  But  he  was  soon  brought  to 
"  a  realizing  sense  of  his  lost  condition." 

I  wonder  that  no  historic  painter  has  por- 
trayed that  meeting  of  Washington  and  Josh- 
ua Hett  Smith.  Smith  coolly  asked  the  Gen- 
eral why  he  desired  to  see  him,  and  why  the 
invitation  to  his  presence  had  been  so  rude 
and  abrupt.     He  had  not  long  to  wait  for  the 


l8o  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

answer.  "Sir!  Do  you  know  that  Arnold 
has  fled,  and  that  Mr.  Anderson,  whom  you 
have  piloted  through  our  lines,  proves  to  be 
Maj.  John  Andre,  the  Adjutant-General  of  the 
British  Army,  now  our  prisoner?  I  expect 
him  here  under  a  guard  of  one  hundred  horse, 
to  meet  his  fate  as  a  spy,  and  unless  you  con- 
fess who  were  your  accomplices,  I  shall  sus- 
pend you  both  on  yonder  tree  before  the 
door! " 

Even  then,  Smith's  audacity  did  not  forsake 
him.  He  says  that  he  undertook  to  "  argue 
the  question "  with  Washington,  informing 
him  that  he  was  exceeding  the  limits  of  his 
authority,  and  that  he  should  demand  a  trial 
before  the  civil  court,  for  he  was  not  under  his 
command  in  the  army.  "  Whereupon,"  he 
adds,  *'  the  General  was  irritated  and  ordered 
the  guards  to  take  me  away."  It  is  said  that 
on  rare  occasions  the  Father  of  his  Country 
supplemented  his  discourse  with  expletives. 
If  ever  they  were  justifiable,  the  occasion  for 
them  was  when  this  impudent  scoundrel  was 
before. him. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  First  Battle  in  A  merican  Naval  History. 
— Over  the  West  Shore  Ridges. —  The  Old 
Village  of  Tappan. — Andr^  Memories  arid 
Relics. 

I  LEFT  my  kind-hearted  host,  Mr.  Lilburn, 
returning  many  thanks  for  his  hospitality,  for 
the  information  imparted  by  the  documents 
in  his  library,  and  the  supply  of  traditionary 
lore  at  his  command.  Fanny,  too,  was  re- 
freshed, for  the  oats  served  out  to  her  were 
not  musty,  like  the  papers  I  had  feasted  upon. 
Evening  was  drawing  on,  and  we  had  a  ride 
of  twenty  miles  before  us  to  Piermont,  where 
I  proposed  to  pass  the  night  with  a  friend,  one 
of  those  sensible  men  who  believe  that  the 
city  is  the  place  for  business,  and  the  country 
is  the  place  for  home  where  clubs,  theatres, 
and  the  demands  of  society  add  not  to  the 
toil  of  the  counting-room,  thus  making  life  an 
ever  revolving  tread-mill,  on  which  rest  is 
never  found. 

i8i 


1 82  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

Riding  again  through  the  town  of  Haver- 
straw,  and  following  for  a  few  miles  further 
along  the  bank  of  the  river,  I  think  of  more 
Revolutionary  incidents  than  I  have  space  to 
chronicle.  All  the  way  from  Nyack  to  Haver- 
straw,  wherever  a  landing  could  be  found, 
the  British  made  their  incessant  raids.  Had 
the  people  been  united,  few  and  scattered  as 
they  were,  these  incursions  would  have  been 
of  less  account.  In  our  late  sectional  war 
we  were  geographically  divided,  and  for  the 
most  part  States  were  open  adversaries  of 
States,  but  in  that  of  the  old  days  no  man 
could  tell  if  his  next-door  neighbor  was  his 
friend  or  his  enemy. 

Far  greater  atrocities  were  perpetrated  by 
Tory  townsmen  on  the  patriots  among  whom 
they  dwelt,  with  whom  they  professed  friend- 
ship and  worshipped  God,  than  by  the  invad- 
ing British  troops.  It  is  not  surprising  that 
when  the  war  was  over,  the  property  of  the 
Tories  was  confiscated,  and  they  themselves 
were  driven  into  exile.  In  the  ancient  local 
histories  we  read  of  assassinations  and  brutali- 
ties almost  incredible,  occurring  in  this  region 
of  the  country  settled  by  quiet  Dutchmen, 
surpassing  in  enormity  anything  of  their  na- 


FIRST  NAVAL  BATTLE.  1 83 

ture  in  all  other  parts  of  the  land.  From  the 
Ramapo  Valley  to  the  shores  of  the  Hud- 
son there  were  constant  successions  of  mur- 
der, rape,  and  arson.  Patrols  were  always  on 
guard  to  prevent  the  landing  of  the  British, 
not  so  much  from  fear  of  them  as  from  the 
apprehension  that  their  own  townsmen  would 
be  encouraged  by  their  presence  to  cut  their 
throats. 

Exasperated  by  these  frequent  occurrences, 
they  organized  an  impromptu  fleet  for  the 
purpose  of  attack  upon  the  water.  Although 
it  does  not  come  within  the  scope  of  the  great 
works  on  American  naval  history  to  chronicle 
it,  nevertheless  the  first  naval  battle  after  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  was  fought  di- 
rectly opposite  the  road  upon  which  I  was 
now  riding.  On  August  3,  1776,  Skipper  Ben 
Tupper  constituted  himself  the  first  Admiral 
of  our  Navy,  and  with  a  fleet  of  four  sloops, 
attacked  the  British  ships  Phenix  and  Rose, 
fighting  them  for  two  hours,  and  finally  driv- 
ing them  below  Tarrytown,  within  their  own 
lines.  This  action  was  followed  by  a  series  of 
similar  engagements  to  ward  off  the  hostilities 
that  for  the  most  part  were  directed  against 
the  people  of  the  western  shore  while  the   in- 


1 84  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

habitants  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river 
were  comparatively  unmolested. 

Two  or  three  miles  below  Haverstraw  the 
boldness  of  the  shore  makes  a  road  impracti- 
cable. We  turned  to  the  right,  following  up  a 
steep  hill  that  was  to  bring  us  over  to  the 
other  side  of  the  river  coast  range.  It  leads 
through  a  gorge,  which  in  summer  must  be 
most  attractive  to  the  many  tourists  who 
come  from  the  city  to  saunter  in  the  shade  of 
its  trees  and  rocks.  The  trees,  naked  in  win- 
ter, are  clothed  with  verdure  in  the  summer, 
but  the  rocky  cliffs  through  which  the  road  is 
cut,  bare  as  they  are  in  summer,  were  now 
draped  in  silver  sheen  and  fringed  with  icy 
stalactites. 

Before  we  left  the  level,  the  shadows  of  the 
hills  had  fallen  over  the  frost-bound  river, 
but  now  that  we  had  mounted  to  the  summit 
we  caught  up  with  the  bright  light  and  saw 
far  in  the  west  over  that  hitherto  undiscov- 
ered country,  the  snow-clad  hills  and  valleys, 
the  black  forest,  the  straggling  towns  and  vil- 
lages, a  wide-spread  panorama  of  surprising 
beauty,  just  as  the  last  touch  was  being  given 
to  it  by  the  setting  sun.  Then  we  descended 
the   western   slope  and  went  rapidly  on  a  few 


UNIVERSAL  HOSPITALITY.  1 85 

miles  more  through  the  valley  until  we  came 
to  another  pass  of  the  hills,  through  which  we 
reached  again  the  river  bank  at  Nyack.  It  was 
a  beautiful  moonlight  night,  tempting  to  the 
merry  sleigh-riders  we  met  constantly  as  we 
passed  through  the  town  and  its  suburbs  till 
we  came  to  the  house  of  my  friend  in  the  out- 
skirts of  Piermont. 

In  my  travels  about  the  world  I  have  fre- 
quently had  occasion  to  contrast  the  habits, 
manners,  and  social  characteristics  of  its  dif- 
ferent peoples.  I  have  never  gone  among  any, 
civilized  or  uncivilized,  who  were  absolutely 
inhospitable.  The  savage  is  often  as  hospit- 
able as  the  Christian.  I  will  not  switch  off 
from  my  track  so  far  from  the  main  route  of 
this  narrative  as  would  be  necessary  to  tell  the 
story  of  a  three  months'  entertainment  by  an 
Eastern  Rajah,  which  would  go  far  to  estab- 
lish the  universality  of  this  charming  domestic 
virtue. 

I  cannot  help  it  if  the  careless  reader  shall 
accuse  us  of  being  "  dead  beats  "  along  the 
road.  I  sometimes  think  that  we  are.  Never- 
theless, if  we  are  asked  to  come  again,  we  shall 
go,  for  I  have  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that 
there  is  no  more  genuine  and  sincere  hospital- 


I  86  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

ity  in  the  world  than  among  our  own  country- 
men, and  that  they  never  pass  the  Spanish 
compliment  of  placing  everything  at  your 
disposal  without  meaning  it  to  be  strictly 
true  that  the  house  is  your  own  for  the  time 
being.  I  found  it  so  at  Piermont,  and  Fanny 
found  the  stable  exceedingly  to  her  liking,  as 
was  demonstrated  by  her  activity  on  the  fol- 
lowing day. 

I  had  in  years  gone  by  wandered  with  my 
host  through  vineyards  and  under  the  shade 
of  the  olive  trees  of  the  Mediterranean  Isles, 
and  now  I  found  him  seated  by  the  side  of 
his  "fruitful  vine,  with  his  own  olive-plants 
around  his  table."  Then  it  was  burning  sum- 
mer, now  it  was  "frosty  yet  kindly"  winter. 
There  it  was  sunshine  without.  Here  it  was 
sunshine  within. 

On  the  next  morning  the  weather  had  mod- 
erated so  that  although  the  ice  and  the  snow 
still  maintained  their  grip,  the  sun  heat  was 
preparing  them  for  a  speedy  dissolution,  and 
the  icicles,  the  roofs  and  the  trees  began  to 
drop  tears  in  view  of  their  coming  departure. 
The  road  again  turns  inland,  passing  down- 
wards several  miles  behind  the  Palisade  range. 

On  arrival   at  Tappan,    a  distance    of   four 


D  UTCH  PA  RSONA  GE.  1 8  7 

miles,  I  called  upon  the  minister  of  the  village 
church,  and  presenting  a  note  from  my  host  of 
the  previous  night,  was  cordially  welcomed  at 
the  parsonage.  It  is  one  of  those  old-fashioned 
Dutch  houses — Mr.  Williamson  could  not  tell 
exactly  how  old — that  was  built  in  the  first 
part  of  the  last  century,  if  not  even  earlier,  a 
solid  structure  of  thick  stone  walls,  large  chim- 
neys, low-studded  with  heavy  cross-beams.  I 
fancy  that  on  the  library  table,  which  like  all 
the  furniture  including  the  big  clock  that  has 
ticked  with  slow  measured  cadence  dealing 
out  their  spans  of  life  to  the  many  succeeding 
dominies  but  still  as  youthful  itself  as  the 
jolly  sun  upon  its  face,  there  have  been  vol- 
umes of  sermons  written  in  Dutch  for  the  edi- 
fication of  the  crumbling  bones  and  dust  now 
in  the  venerable  churchyard.  Half  a  cent- 
ury ago  Dutch  was  continued  as  the  pulpit 
language  of  many  churches  in  south-western 
New  York  and  north-eastern  New  Jersey. 
Latterly  these  Dutch  churches  have  been 
"  Reformed  "  in  language  and  doctrine,  so 
that,  although  they  have  come  to  differ 
in  no  essential  degree  from  Presbyterians,  they 
retain  their  former  name  only  out  of  regard 
to  the  old  associations  connected  with  it. 


1 88  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

Fanny  went  to  take  her  ease  in  a  stable  that 
had  been  occupied  by  more  generations  of 
horses,  than  the  house  had  held  of  men,  now 
dead  and  gone,  the  first  of  which  may  have 
been  a  square-built  galliot-shaped  animal,  im- 
ported from  Holland.  Then,  the  dominie 
having  shown  the  yellow  church  records  and 
other  curiosities  of  his  library,  took  me  upon  a 
walk,  discoursing  as  we  went  on  incidents  of 
history,  and  particularly  of  those  concerning 
the  last  days  of  Major  Andr6. 

The  church  in  which  his  trial  was  held,  was 
built  in  1694,  rebuilt  in  1788,  and  replaced  by 
the  present  structure  in  1835  at  a  gain  in  size, 
but  as  would  appear  from  the  drawings,  at  a 
loss  in  architectural  taste.  The  same  remark 
may  apply  to  the  quaint  stone-built  Dutch 
house  occupied  by  Washington  as  his  head- 
quarters, but  now,  although  its  main  part  is 
left  standing,  disfigured  by  the  addition  of  a 
flat-topped  wooden  wing  after  the  modern 
style  of  Jersey  renaissance.  The  present  occu- 
pant unfortunately  had  gone  away  with  the 
keys  in  his  pocket,  so  that  we  could  only  sur- 
vey the  exterior;  but  Mr.  Williamson  pointed 
out  the  corner  room  where,  when  the  proces- 
sion passed  on  the  way  to  the  gallows,  Wash- 


HARMLESS  VENOM.  189 

ington  sat  with  the  curtains  drawn,  commun- 
ing with  his  own  thoughts,  and  wishing  from 
his  inmost  soul  that  the  bitter  cup  might 
have  passed  from  the  unfortunate  victim. 
And  yet  it  was  a  woman,  who  only  lacked  the 
claws  and  the  fangs  of  a  tigress,  who  assailed 
him  thus : 

"  Oh,  Washington  !     I  thought  thee  great  and  good, 
Nor  knew  thy  Nero  thirst  of  guiltless  blood  ! 
Severe  to  use  the  power  that  Fortune  gave, 
Thou  cool  determined  murderer  of  the  brave  I 
Lost  to  each  fairer  virtue  that  inspires 
The  genuine  fervor  of  the  patriot  fires  I 
And  you,  the  base  abettors  of  the  doom 
That  sunk  his  blooming  honors  in  the  tomb, 
The  opprobrious  tomb  your  hardened  hearts  decreed, 
While  all  he  asked  was  as  the  brave  to  bleed  I 
Nor  other  boon  the  glorious  youth  implored 
Save  the  cold  mercy  of  the  warrior  sword! 
O  dark  and  pitiless  !     Your  impious  hate 
O'erwhelmed  the  hero  in  the  ruffian's  fate  1 
Stopt  with  the  felon  cord  the  rosy  breath, 
And  venomed  with  disgrace  the  darts  of  death! 
Remorseless  Washington  1  the  day  shall  come 
Of  deep  repentance  for  this  barbarous  doom ! 
When  injured  Andre's  memory  shall  inspire 
A  kmdling  army  with  resistless  fire. 
Each  falchion  sharpens  that  the  Britons  wield, 
And  lead  their  fiercest  lion  to  the  field  I 
Then,  when  each  hope  of  thine  shall  set  in  night, 
When  dubious  dread  and  unavailing  flight 


IQO  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

Impel  your  host,  thy  guilt-upbraided  soul 

Shall  wish  untouched  the  sacred  life  you  stole, 

And  when  thy  heart  appalled,  and  vanquished  pride 

Shall  vainly  ask  the  mercy  they  denied, 

With  horror  shalt  thou  meet  the  fate  they  gave, 

Nor  pity  gild  the  darkness  of  thy  grave  ! 

For  infamy,  with  livid  hand  shall  shed 

Eternal  mildew  on  thy  ruthless  head  I  " 

The  author,  Miss  Seward,  was  the  friend  of 
Honora  Sneyd,  who  had  discarded  Andre,  and 
had  since  married  and  died.  That  appears  to 
be  all  of  the  personal  motive  which  brought 
out  this  vindictive  curse  upon  the  head  of 
Washington. 

Nearly  opposite  the  house  occupied  by 
Washington  is  another  stone  building  of 
smaller  size.  It  was  a  tavern  in  Revolu- 
tionary times,  and  for  the  occasion,  a  room 
in  it  was  used  as  Andre's  prison.  It  is  now 
the  property  of  an  eccentric  old  physician,  who 
has  allowed  the  roof  to  tumble  in  and  every- 
thing to  fall  out  of  repair.  Lest  any  visitor 
should  put  one  of  the  granite  blocks  or  one  of 
the  roof  timbers  in  his  pocket  and  walk  away 
with  it,  the  doctor  has  surrounded  the  house 
with  a  high  board  fence  which  even  the  agile 
school-boy  is  unable  to  surmount. 

We  walked   from   the  village  in  a  westerly 


EHEU  ANDR]£!  I9I 

direction  over  the  road  travelled  by  Andre  to 
his  doom  on  the  2d  of  October,  108  years  ago. 
Of  the  Court  of  Inquiry  of  six  Major-Generals 
and  eight  Brigadier-Generals  that  found  him 
guilty  and  deserving  of  execution,  Gen.  Steuben 
was  the  only  one  who  was  disposed  to  be 
lenient,  while  Gen.  Parsons,  who  manifested 
no  mercy  for  him  whatever,  was  ten  months 
afterwards  discovered  in  correspondence  with 
Sir  Henry  Clinton,  with  a  view  of  betraying 
the  Continental  Army. 

What  a  sad  farewell  it  must  have  been  to 
this  beautiful  world  for  one  so  young,  before 
whom  there  was  everything  that  we  old  men 
have  left  behind — for  pleasant  as  retrospect 
may  be,  some  clouds  hang  over  it ;  but  antici- 
pation has  not  one  dark  spot  upon  it  to  dim  its 
brightness.  It  was  the  most  delightful  season 
of  the  whole  year,  at  high  noon,  when  from  the 
hill  on  which  he  stood  he  could  see  the  coun- 
try far  and  near,  clothed  in  all  its  glorious 
autumn  array — the  yellow  fields  lately  reaped, 
the  green  pine  forests,  the  already  changing 
maples  in  their  parti-colored  dress.  There 
stood  the  crowd  around  him  who  were  yet  to 
live  and  yet  to  have  these  scenes  before  them, 
who  were  still  to  inhale  the  balmy  air  of  which 


192  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

in  a  moment  more  he  should  breathe  the  last ; 
and  harder  than  all  he  was  to  die  an  ignomin- 
ious death  with  the  fear  that  its  baseness  would 
ever  attach  to  his  memory.  Who  would  not 
have  pitied  him,  and  what  man  could  there 
have  been  in  that  assembly  who  would  not 
have  rejoiced  to  have  seen  him  go  free  if  the 
traitor  Arnold  could  have  been  made  to  suffer 
in  his  stead  ? 

A  touching  tribute  to  his  memory,  written  by 
Dean  Stanley  on  his  visit  to  the  spot,  was  en- 
graved on  the  monument  lately  erected  there 
by  one  of  our  countrymen,  but  it  was  soon 
destroyed  by  some  persons  who  were  actuated 
by  personal  malice  more  than  by  patriotic  zeal. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Through  Bergen  County. —  Two  Revolutionary 
Scenes. — Andres  Prophetic  Lines. — A  Lonely 
Inn. —  The  Dutch  Landlord  aud  His  Family. 
— Return  to  New  York. 

Parting  from  the  amiable  clergyman  of 
Tappan  with  a  high  appreciation  of  his  kind- 
ness, I  mounted  Fanny  again  and  crossed  im- 
mediately over  the  border  line  which  separates 
Rockland  County  of  New  York  from  Bergen 
County  of  New  Jersey.  Schraalenberg  was 
the  first  village  to  which  we  came  after  a  ride 
of  six  miles,  the  country  becoming  more  dis- 
tinctly Dutch  as  we  progressed.  There  were 
numerous  quaint  old  stone  houses,  many  of 
them  with  huge  projecting  stone  chimneys, 
these  denoting  the  highest  antiquity  when  the 
great  industry  of  Haverstraw  and  Croton  had 
not  been  exploited.  It  has  been  said  that  the 
early  settlers  imported  their  bricks  from  Hol- 
land, but  I  apprehend  that  this  legend  refers 
13  193 


194  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

to  ornamental  tiles  rather  than  to  building 
material.  Of  these  many  were  brought  over, 
and  to  this  day  they  may  be  seen  bordering 
the  great  fireplaces,  where  for  generations  the 
catechisms  and  texts  of  instruction  painted 
upon  them  have  served  the  purpose  of  the 
modern  Sunday-school.  There,  too,  are  still 
the  barns  modelled  like  Noah's  Ark  bottom  up, 
low  studded  like  the  houses,  for  as  land  was 
cheaper  than  it  now  is  in  Broadway,  the  heavy- 
moulded  farmers  did  not  care  to  stretch  their 
legs  needlessly  in  going  up-stairs  or  to  weary 
their  arms  in  pitching  hay. 

Everything  but  the  landscape  resembles 
Holland,  That  is  in  all  its  aspects  totally 
different,  for  Bergen  County,  at  least  in  its 
northern  part,  is  not  spread  over  a  level,  but 
runs  from  one  hilltop  to  another.  In  South 
Bergen,  where  there  are  plenty  of  swamps,  the 
Dutchman  might  have  felt  at  home,  but  on  his 
first  coming  here  he  must  indeed  have  consid- 
ered himself  a  pilgrim  in  a  strange  land.  How 
did  he  get  here,  anyway?  Did  he  climb  over 
the  Palisades,  or  did  he  drift  with  the  tide  up 
the  Hackensack  ?  What  was  he  to  do  without 
canals  ?  I  have  noticed  that  in  Java,  where 
there  are  salubrious  hills  and  mountains  easily 


A  DUTCH  DREAM.  1 95 

accessible,  he  deliberately  established  himself 
on  the  morass  at  Batavia,  so  that  he  could  dig 
a  canal,  and  then  die  of  the  yellow  fever  con- 
tentedly. 

Why,  indeed,  did  he  not  settle  on  the  Hack, 
ensack  meadows  ?  Why  do  not  his  country- 
men come  there  now  ?  The  descendants  of 
men  who  redeemed  Holland  from  the  sea 
could  surely  rescue  these  meadows  from  the 
encroachment  of  the  Hackensack  and  Passaic 
Rivers.  There  is  room  enough  there  for  a 
thousand  farmers  of  holdings  such  as  they 
cultivate  with  so  much  success  at  home.  The 
land  is  as  good  and  the  climate  as  equable  ; 
but  it  is  a  waste,  a  great  area  of  bog.  We 
may  imagine  it  the  property  of  a  thousand 
sturdy  Dutch  farmers  who  have  not  yet  been 
corrupted  with  our  air  of  liberty  and  broken 
out  with  the  eruptions  of  extravagance  and 
discontent.  We  see  in  our  fancy  the  dykes 
thrown  up  and  the  intersecting  canals  on 
which  the  noiseless  trekschuit  glides  along, 
the  scattered  houses  and  barns,  the  church 
spires  and  windmills,  the  long  avenues  of 
trees,  the  orchards,  gardens,  and  fields,  all  pos- 
sessed by  a  contented  people.  They  could 
not  live  so  cheaply  here  as  in  Holland  ?     Per- 


196  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

haps  not  in  all  respects  just  now ;  but  a 
change  is  coming.  Still,  will  anybody  tell  us 
why  a  colony  of  Dutchmen,  who  are  not  am- 
bitious for  luxuries  they  have  not  at  home, 
and  who  would  have  a  better  market  for  their 
products  than  they  have  there,  could  not 
thrive  under  these  conditions? 

I  do  not  think  that  the  higher  altitudes  they 
sought  in  their  settlement  here,  improved  the 
temper  of  the  colonists.  From  all  accounts 
they  became  very  quarrelsome  in  theology  and 
politics.  When  the  Revolutionary  war  came, 
neighbor  was  pitted  against  neighbor  even 
more  ferociously  than  were  their  countrymen 
on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson.  But  they  were 
always  a  hard-working  economical  set  of 
people.  They  made  home  industries  pay. 
Everything  they  consumed,  with  the  sole  ex- 
ception of  the  indispensable  gin,  was  produced 
by  themselves.  Men,  women  and  children 
worked  in  the  fields,  and  even  the  baby's 
weight  was  utilized  in  churning  butter. 

Their  descendants  to-day,  among  whom 
their  language  and  customs  prevail  more  or 
less,  are  not  in  the  least  intimidated  by  the 
threats  of  Engineer  Brotherhoods  or  Knights 
of  Labor  to  play  havoc  with  all  our  means  of 


A  BLOODY  MASSACRE.  197 

transportation,  for  they  could  survive  without 
them,  provided,  of  course,  that  a  sufficient 
stock  of  tobacco  had  been  laid  in.  And  yet, 
with  all  their  phlegm  and  apparent  indiffer- 
ence to  the  outside  world,  they  arose  as  one 
man  when  the  news  reached  them  of  the  first 
symptoms  of  a  revolt  against  unjust  taxation 
at  Boston  in  1774,  and  sent  to  that  city  their 
message  of  sympathy.  Whatever  may  be  true 
of  other  portions  of  the  country,  it  seems  con- 
clusive that  among  the  farmers  along  the  Hud- 
son and  Hackensack  there  was  from  the  first, 
practical  unanimity  in  resisting  this  system  of 
robbery,  not  only  in  council,  but  in  arms, 
while  at  the  same  time,  as  in  this  instance  of 
the  address  of  the  Bergen  people,  they  were 
still  loyal  to  the  King.  It  was  only  when  a 
part  of  the  community  thought  that  the  object 
of  the  war  might  be  accomplished  without 
independence,  and  the  other  part  differed  with 
them,  that  there  were  deadly  enemies  in  the 
same  town,  sometimes  in  the  same  house,  and 
even  in  the  same  bed. 

It  was  about  three  miles  from  Tappan  when 
we  passed  the  spot  of  one  of  the  most  bloody 
massacres  of  the  war.  It  was  where  the 
American  Col.  Baylor  had  quartered  himself 


IpS  WINTER   SKETCHES. 

and  ii6  men  at  the  home  and  on  the  premises 
of  Cornelius  Haring,  when  some  of  Haring's 
Tory  neighbors  gave  notice  to  the  British  over 
the  river.  Col.  Grey  accordingly,  piloted  by 
them,  after  crossing  the  Hudson,  came  upon 
the  detachment  unawares  by  night,  and  to  the 
great  delight  of  the  Tories,  massacred  every 
one  who  could  not  make  his  escape. 

Riding  a  few  miles  further  down,  after  pass- 
ing through  Schraalenberg,  we  came  near  to 
the  scene  of  the  affray  above  Bull's  Ferry, 
which,  although  serious  and  resulting  in  con- 
siderable loss  of  life  on  both  sides,  is  remem- 
bered more  for  the  comic  description  given  of 
it  by  Major  Andr^  in  his  poem  entitled  the 
"Cow  Chace,"  in  which  he  unmercifully  ridi- 
culed Gen.  Wayne.  Wayne's  main  object 
was  to  dislodge  a  force  of  Tories  who  had 
entrenched  themselves  in  a  block-house,  and 
he  also  desired  to  get  possession  of  a  lot  of 
cattle  for  the  commissariat.  Andr6  in  his 
long  string  of  verses  puts  this  in  the  mouth  of 
Wayne  as  issuing  his  orders  to  his  subordi- 
nates : 

"  I,  under  cover  of  th'  attack, 

Whilst  you  are  all  at  blows, 
From  "  English  neighborhood  "  and  Tamack 
Will  drive  awav  the  cows." 


HOOPER'S  MURDER. 


199 


There  is  one  stanza  in  this  poem  in  which 
he  writes  of  cold-blooded  murder  in  such  a 
rollicking  style  that  unless,  as  it  is  charity  to 
hope,  he  did  not  know  what  the  circumstances 
were,  our  sympathy  for  the  fate  which  befell 
him  afterwards,  might  be  entirely  withdrawn, 
and  men  might  say  that  his  own  request  to 
"die  without  a  rope"  was  denied  him  as  a 
punishment  for  the  utterance : 

"  But,  oh  Thaddeus  Possett,  why 
Should  thy  poor  soul  elope, 
And  why  should  Titus  Hooper  die, 
Ah,  die — without  a  rope  ! " 

Mr.  Clayton  says  that  Hooper  **  was  mur- 
dered by  the  Tories  under  John  Van  de  Roder, 
a  neighbor,  who  entered  his  home  in  the  night, 
and  after  shooting  him  through  the  head  com- 
pelled his  wife  to  hold  a  candle  while  they 
thrust  nineteen  bayonets  into  him." 

What  had  Hooper  done?  Perhaps  some- 
body can  tell  us  something  that  may  be  said 
in  extenuation  of  the  brutal  conduct  of  Van 
de  Roder,  and  of  the  inhuman  rhyme  of 
Andr6.  The  closing  lines  are  almost  prophetic 
of  retribution : 


200  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

"  And  now  I  close  my  epic  verse  ; 
I  tremble  as  I  show  it, 
Lest  this  same  warrior-drover,  Wayne, 
Should  ever  catch  the  poet.  " 

Musing  on  all  these  things,  for  though  I  had 
not  travelled  many  miles  in  the  last  two  days, 
I  had  travelled  back  many  years,  I  gave 
Fanny  a  loose  rein  and  became  careless  of  my 
road.  She  did  not  pay  proper  attention  to  the 
sign-boards,  but  wandered  off  to  the  right 
through  some  by-road  of  the  undiscovered 
country.  I  think  it  was  with  instinct  that  she 
might  find  a  stopping-place  for  our  midday 
meal,  for  soon  a  little  out-of-the-way  Dutch 
tavern  hove  in  sight.  Why  it  was  there  I  can- 
not tell.  There  was  no  neighborhood  of 
houses  whose  tenants  might  frequent  its  bar- 
room at  evening,  and  all  the  custom  that  could 
come  to  its  doors  must  be  that  of  the  prudent 
farmers  going  in  and  coming  out  from  market, 
men  who  are  chary  of  the  proceeds  of  their 
cabbages  and  potatoes. 

It  must  have  been,  as  I  have  been,  living  on 
the  memories  of  the  past.  Before  it  was  a 
wide  stoop,  and  as  I  pulled  up  alongside,  I 
could  see  the  portly  landlord  sitting  in  his 
own  company  by  the  bar-room  stove,  quietly 


FANNrS  MISFOR  TUNE.  20 1 

smoking  his  pipe.  He  slowly  turned  his  head, 
but  made  no  effort  to  rise  and  open  the  door. 
I  dismounted  and  entering  the  house,  said, 
"Good  afternoon."  The  landlord  replied, 
"Goede  namiddag."  "Can  I  have  my  horse 
fed?"  I  asked.  Whereupon  he  called  out, 
"  Hannes !  Draag  zorg  of  het  paard  dezer 
heer." 

The  boy  came  forth  from  another  room,  and 
led  Fanny  to  the  stable  as  I  followed. 

"  Now,"  said  I,  after  I  had  taken  off  the 
saddle  and  bridle,  a  proceeding  rather  above 
his  comprehension,  "  give  her  four  quarts  of 
oats."  "  Wy  hebben  geen  haver,"  replied  the 
boy,  shaking  his  head  solemnly,  by  which  I 
understood  that  there  were  no  oats. 

"  What  do  you  feed  your  own  horses  on, 
then?"  I  asked,  as  I  surveyed  two  melancholy 
looking  skeletons  staggering  about  the  barn- 
yard. 

"Wy  geven  onzen  paarden  hooi,"  he  an- 
swered. 

Looking  in  the  crib,  I  saw  some  Hacken- 
sack  bulrushes,  and  I  told  the  boy  that  my 
mare  would  not  eat  such  stuff. 

"  Laat  haar  blyven  voor  een  week  Zy  will 
honger  genoeg  hebben  om  it  te  eeten,"  said  he. 


202  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

After  all,  Dutch  is  not  so  very  much  unlike 
English.  It  was  easy  enough  to  understand 
this:  "Let  her  stay  a  week  and  she  will  be 
hungry  enough  to  eat  it."  Perhaps  she  might, 
but  it  was  not  more  than  twelve  miles  to  New 
York,  so  that  Fanny  was  not  compelled  to  try 
the  often-told  experiment  of  the  Irishman's 
horse  of  living  without  eating,  of  which  his 
owner  remarked  that  it  was  an  entire  success, 
but  that  unfortunately  "just  as  he  got  cliverly 
larnt  he  died."  I  pitied  her,  but  reminded 
her  of  the  old  song  which  runs : 

"  There  was  a  man  who  had  a  cow ; 
He  had  no  hay  to  give  her. 
He  took  his  pipe  and  played  the  tune, 
'  Consider,  cow,  consider.' " 

I  gave  her  a  lump  of  sugar,  and  promised  to 
bring  her  out  a  piece  of  bread  to  "  stay  her 
stomach."  The  landlord  could  wrestle  some- 
what better  with  English  than  the  boy,  but 
his  language  was  very  composite  in  its  con- 
nection. He  readily  assented  to  my  request 
for  some  dinner,  but  when  I  ventured  to  ask 
for  a  broiled  chicken,  having  seen  some  fowls 
picking  about  the  premises,  he  awoke  from  his 
stupor,  and  the  blood  coursed  rapidly  through 


A  DUTCH  VROUW.  203 

his  veins.  "Kip?  Myn  God  !"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Wat  meant  you  ?  Neen,  neen  !  If  I  kill  een 
kip,  de  kip  don't  never  be  a  hen,  en  daar  won't 
be  no  eyeren.  If  I  killed  kippen  last  year,  you 
don't  won't  get  no  eyeren  mit  your  ham  to- 
day !"  As  the  French  say,  "  he  had  reason." 
It  was  a  sound  argument,  and  I  was  convinced 
of  its  force  when  a  very  nice  dish  of  ham  and 
eggs  was  served  by  the  vrouw  of  my  landlord. 
She  was  a  woman  with  a  head  such  as  Rubens 
was- wont  to  paint,  hair  combed  back  and  sur- 
mounted by  a  cap  that  might  serve  for  day  or 
night;  blue  eyes,  rosy  cheeks  and  lips.  She 
was  dressed  in  a  short  woollen  gown  with  a 
white  apron  in  front  and  nothing  behind ;  she 
could  sit  down  without  inconvenience  to  her- 
self, and  she  could  stand  up  in  a  crowd  without 
inconvenience  to  others. 

Two  little  girls,  with  their  yellow  hair  braided 
and  coiled  on  the  backs  of  their  heads,  and 
held  in  place  by  high  horn  combs,  were  sitting 
on  the  floor,  holding  and  balling  up  a  skein  of 
yarn,  and  that  uncarpeted  floor  was  as  clean  as 
the  table-cloth  and  the  bright  ware  upon  it. 
Surrounded  by  these  pretty  pictures,  which 
seemed  to  have  been  taken  from  their  frames 
and  spread  about  for  my  entertainment,  I  dined 


204  WINTER  SKETCHES. 

most  agreeably  ;  and  I  may  add  that  the  feast 
was  moistened  with  a  glass  of  choice  Holland 
gin,  which  the  landlord  informed  me  that  he 
did  not  sell,  but  sometimes  gave  to  himself. 
Poor  Fanny  had  in  the  meantime  employed 
herself  in  pulling  the  sedge  from  the  crib,  and 
trampling  it  under  her  feet  in  disgust.  It  was 
her  worst  experience  upon  the  journey. 

The  warm  afternoon  sun  had  played  havoc 
with  the  "  beautiful  snow,"  turning  it  into  yel- 
low water,  which  choked  the  gutters  and  over- 
flowed the  roads,  and  when  we  reached  the 
main  thoroughfare  all  was  slush  and  mud. 
Wading  through  it,  we  came  to  the  toll-bridge 
over  the  Hackensack,  and  then  to  another  toll- 
gate  at  the  causeway  turnpike,  and  so  on  to 
a  Jersey  driveway  in  feeble  imitation  of  New 
York  avenues,  with  like  shingle  road-houses 
and  rows  of  sheds.  We  were  no  longer  in  the 
country,  but  among  unpaved  and  unmacada- 
mized  streets  lined  with  saloons  and  breweries. 
Huge  lager-beer  wagons,  drawn  by  elephantine 
horses  and  driven  by  animated  beer  casks, 
splashed  along.  Then  we  came  to  the  taper- 
ing backbone  of  the  Palisade  range,  which 
finally  loses  itself  at  Hoboken,  and,  crossing 


WEEHA  WKEX  AND  FINIS.  205 

it,  descended  at  Weehawken  amid  excavations, 
mud,  filth,  and  wet  coal  dust,  over  a  gridiron 
of  railway  tracks,  to  the  "  old  ferry,"  which 
took  us  to  New  York. 


>», 


Ut  bUUIHtHN  HbUIUrjAL  LIliHAHY  (- AGILITY 


AA    000  882  711     5 


